


Learn No Consequence

by fake_years



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe, Fake Dating Scenarios, Kissing Lessons, Lots of aliens that I had to research, M/M, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fake_years/pseuds/fake_years
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New to Earth, Spock enlists the help of a popular cadet on the practice of human dating. James Kirk proves to be more than he bargained for. Resentment, flashcards, and practice kissing abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn No Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday. Warning for dub-con that is not between Kirk and Spock.

Of the infinite expressions in the known universe, Spock had documented 29 of the ones most often used amongst humans to denote affection. These gestures were tied to the concept of love in its many forms - agape, éros, philia and storge - as defined by ancient, pre-Federation philosophers.

Spock lifted his head as he surveyed the bar’s interior. It was common knowledge that many Starfleet cadets frequented Noland’s, thanks in part to their self-serve mescaline dispensers and pool tables. Although Spock recognized a number of cadets, they had yet to approach him or vice versa.

Various sources in Spock’s research had noted that amongst humans, the positioning of one’s body played a significant role in attracting or dissuading potential company.

He attempted to slouch casually against the back of his chair in accordance with the diagrams he had viewed. The ridges of the chair dug uncomfortably between his shoulder blades. Spock made sure to keep a generously wide distance between his arms. He anticipated that this would, in turn, signal his openness to conversation.

On more than one occasion, a fellow cadet by the name of Nyota Uhura had made mention of the popular meeting place while conversing with her friends. Although the probability of their meeting was relatively low, spending time here had seemed like the most logical course of action at the present time.

Despite her attending the same relativistic mechanics lecture, Spock did not know a great deal about her beyond hinted-at depths of kindness and intelligence. They had not engaged in a conversation beyond a brief greeting. And yet, before Spock’s mind drifted into sleep, he found that he often dwelled upon her impeccable conduct and the arch of her neck in the dark.

In a fit of inquisitiveness, Spock had ordered a concoction advertised as the establishment’s “daily special.” He drank from the glass. As the liquid slid over his tongue, a dense cloud of Andorian perfume overpowered him. This triggered a cough, which took Spock approximately 1.5 minutes to subdue. Spock was once more reminded of his distaste for human liquor as he wiped the remaining liquid from his chin. No doubt the display did little to attract the positive attention he so desired.

Hours passed as Spock waited for cadet Uhura’s arrival. Small groups, gathered guardedly around tables and barstools swelled in numbers to populate the rest of the bar. Spock observed their overflow into the aisles as their blood alcohol content rose and inhibitions decreased. Their noise increased in tandem with their gestures; from economical hand signals to the exorbitant and unnecessary flailing of limbs. Spock noted that they became spaciously flamboyant to the point of bordering on meaningless.

Halfway into Spock’s second drink, a clamor broke out above the general din of the crowd. He turned to see a young man – presumably a fellow Starfleet cadet, judging by Spock’s estimation of his age – approaching the boisterous group in question. The man ducked his head in a show of humility. He proceeded to greet the others with backslaps and generous drink offers.Spock watched as the men and women angled their bodies subconsciously towards the young, golden-haired cadet. He observed the way they seemed to shine under his attention. Although highly illogical, he found he resented the gregarious human.

Twenty more minutes would be a sufficient amount of time to wait before returning to his quarters, Spock decided. In the meantime, he attempted to schedule assignments for the upcoming week. If he scanned the doorway periodically, it was decidedly unrelated to Nyota’s arrival or lack thereof. 

_____

  

“Hey, what’s with the new guy over there?” Jim Kirk leaned against the bar, lounging back on his elbows while nursing the too-strong drink someone had just handed him.

“S’cuse me, I think I just spotted a case of Andorian shingles I’d rather treat.”

“Come on Bones, You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Jim paused just long enough for the tension in McCoy’s shoulders to ease up, before rotating around to properly face him, “All I’m saying is, when’s the last time you saw a Vulcan in here? Alone?”

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” McCoy’s expression looked pained, “Is it too much to ask for one night of peace and quiet?”

“Especially not alone like that…” Jim continued, voice contemplative. Every pornographic quote-unquote Vulcan holo-vid he had watched swam in front of his vision. Granted, most of the actors were Romulans playing at Vulcans, which only left Jim all the more curious as to what the real thing was like. His eyes stayed trained ahead as he wrapped his lips around the smooth head of his bottle.

As if the other man could see his thoughts, McCoy fixed Jim with what he assumed to be the same disapproving glare he used on Joanna. Jim didn’t even have time to attempt to look guilty when someone or something behind him caught McCoy’s attention. He followed McCoy’s gaze to see Sulu approaching them. 

“You giving McCoy another heart attack?” he motioned between them. “Thought you were laying low tonight.”

“I am!” Jim jumped to his own defense, “I’m just talking.”

“Laying low, my ass. He’s been eyeing that Vulcan ever since he walked into the damn place.” McCoy jerked a thumb behind him, towards the offending subject.

“Good luck with that.” Sulu nodded in the bartender’s direction, half turned to them. “Look Kirk, I know you’re not overly familiar with rejection, but when a Vulcan says it’s getting late, they’re not being cute. That guy’s probably been calculating the density of the next system’s moons since before we even woke up.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t let loose once in awhile.” Jim was met with twin stares of incredulity.  “What? They have to sometimes…right?”

“If your idea of letting loose is translating third century, confiscated Klingon manuscripts, then sure,” Sulu chuckled into his newly acquired drink.

“I love Klingons,” Jim muttered. He craned his neck in an attempt to scan the room once more.

Jim looked back to the Vulcan’s seat only to find it empty. “Shit, he’s gone,” Jim threw up his hands in defeat. Sulu shook his head as McCoy mumbled about small mercies. Jim made a half-hearted vow to run into the mysterious Vulcan, one way or another. There wasn’t exactly an overabundance of them at Starfleet. How hard could it be?

 

____

 

After two weeks of meditation and reflection, Spock asked Nyota to join him in reviewing their shared coursework. Inside the study room, a bright wall of glass separated them from the main common area. The wall could be turned opaque or transparent, based upon the level of privacy desired. Spock and Nyota’s barrier remained unlocked and crystal clear. 

They had spent a better part of the last hour working in silence, speaking only to ask permission before progressing to the next slide on their shared tablet.

Spock allowed his eyes to wander from his work to linger on Nyota. His level of distraction from the task at hand concerned him, yet Spock couldn’t help but calculate the exact distance between their resting arms. Just as he rose to chart something on the interactive wall, a sharp ‘thwack’ stilled his hand.

“Fuck.” A young man rubbed at his head outside the study pod before scrambling through the door. He made no acknowledgement of them as he ducked to conceal himself behind Spock and Nyota’s desk. 

“Who even keeps glass that clean?” he moaned to himself. The unidentified man pinched the bridge of his nose, from which a moderate amount of blood was leaking, before doing a double take. His eyes widened minutely as they passed over Spock, if only for a moment.

“Oh uh, hey folks. Didn’t realize you guys were in here. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I regain sight in my left eye or the bloodthirsty gang that’s chasing me passes through. Whichever comes first.” He hissed once more in pain.

Nyota crouched beside him. “I think your nose might be broken,” she inspected his face, every bit the picture of cool composure. “Should I call the clinic?” She gingerly touched the side of his nose, earning a wince. Spock felt recognition dawning on him. The cadet from the bar, he was unmistakable.

“I’m fine,” the man waved the question away. “The name’s Jim Kirk by the way.”

Spock’s waning interest was renewed. “The son of George Kirk?”

“Guilty as charged.” The man flashed some amalgamation of a grimace and smile.

Spock raised a single eyebrow as he surveyed Kirk’s state. Under his critical stare, Kirk rolled his eyes before finally taking notice of Nyota. “Were you in my exochemistry class? Gym? Study here often?”

 “Are you serious?” She asked, yet her expression was one of bemusement. It was not unlike the perplexingly fond interactions Spock had first witnessed at the bar. An idea began to form and take shape in Spock's mind.

 “Cadet Uhura, I do not believe his wounds warrant emergency medical attention,” Spock provided. He then redirected his stare at Kirk, “I am curious though as to why you are here, cadet.” 

“She said she was single,” Kirk moaned, allowing his head to fall back with a thud. “Hey, did you see three guys go past? Big, meathead types – looked like they wanted to beat the ever-living shit out of me?”

“If you would kindly relocate yourself,” Spock began, as the man’s attention drifted from Spock to the projection on the front wall.

“I hate to break it to you," Kirk suddenly interjected, now staring at the wall with his full attention, "but your equation is way off."

“You must be mistaken,” Spock straightened his back, if somewhat defensively, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Cadet Uhura and I have both repeatedly checked over our work-“

“First of all, if you’re working off of Minkowski spacetime instead of O’Leary – I’m guessing that it’s an intro class if you’re going that far back – “ Kirk paused to smear the trail of blood sliding toward his upper lip before continuing. “But you can’t ignore warp channels’ existence entirely, even for 21st century. Trust me. Professor Do’ht, right? I took his course last year, he’ll want you to include it.”

“I…had not considered that,” Spock said, stunned. He avoided looking back at Uhura. 

“Well,” Jim shot a glance at the projection’s clock, slapping his hands on his thighs as he rose. “The coast should be clear. The idiots probably saw something new and shiny to chase after. 

“I do not understand,” Spock murmured to himself.

“Sorry about the intrusion,” Kirk adjusted his uniform jacket. “I’ll let you get back to your studies.” He slipped away towards the exit before Spock could respond any further.

Nyota broke the silence as Spock watched the cadet retreat across the now danger-free atrium. “I think we deserve a study break right about now, don’t you?” She gave Spock a smile.

“Although a postponement of pertinent coursework is generally unadvised, in this case, I must agree,” Spock nodded, “If you will excuse me.”

He turned his back to Nyota’s befuddled face and exited after Kirk in one swift motion.

The crowd outside had thinned considerably since this afternoon, so that Spock could navigate with relative ease through the hallway. He soon identified the cadet in question’s back, marginally increasing his own speed to close the distance.

“Cadet Kirk,” he announced from a short distance. 

“Jesus,” Kirk whipped around before regaining his composure. A slow smile spread across his face as his eyes raked over Spock. “Oh, it’s you again.”

 “I am in need of your assistance,” Spock intoned.

“Listen uh…” Kirk leaned forward with a pause. Spock stared back before surmising that the human was searching for some kind of identifier.

“Spock.”

Kirk pinched the tender bridge of his nose, regretting the action instantly. “Listen Spock, I would love to help you and your girlfriend, but I’m not really a study group kind of guy. More of a….” he gazed off, miming as if to form the words from thin air, “Well, I’m more of a lone wolf studying type really.”

“Cadet Uhura and I are not involved in a romantic relationship, nor do I require your assistance in my studies. It is a matter of a personal nature. I would explain further, but current circumstances require that I remain brief. Would you be amenable to meeting somewhere more private off campus grounds at a later date?”

“Wait, are you…?” For a moment Kirk studied him. He seemed to weigh the sincerity of Spock’s words, shifting between optimism and caution. Such a reaction was ridiculous, Spock concluded, as Vulcans neither joked nor lied.

“Does this Saturday after lunch suit your schedule? I believe the Academy gardens are quite pleasing this time of year.”

Kirk’s bloodied lip blossomed into a full, glisteningly ensanguined grin, “Looking forward to it."

_______

 

Winged insects were not common on Vulcan. 

The majority of the planet’s wildlife took to burrowing beneath the hot desert sands or finding shelter in the landscape’s natural caves. Sandworms were a favorite topic of discussion among young Vulcans, dissecting their grayish, tubular bodies in the name of amateur scientific endeavors.

Without raising his head from the PADD, Spock felt his muscles involuntarily tense as a Terran honeybee hovered near his nose. Scientists had reintroduced the species around the year 2130. The Okayama Memorial Garden, although only a short distance from the Academy, provided a wide variety of wildlife not found on campus.

It was early for the honeybee to be so active, he observed, as the breeze still stung with remnants of winter’s chill. Curious. Spock watched the bee as it inspected the bright surface of his PADD before drifted back upwards and flew away.

The time read 12:55, approximately five minutes from the time of cadet Kirk’s scheduled arrival. The thought that Kirk might terminate their meeting had crossed Spock’s mind on more than one occasion since arranging the outing. It would be false to pretend the idea did not bring both comfort as well as disappointment to Spock.

Yet, to feel remorse over the loss of a weekend-pass to visit a sight off-campus was not entirely illogical. Another 5.4 minutes of reading passed, uninterrupted, before Kirk finally came into Spock’s line of sight.

Spock looked up to see Kirk smiling broadly. He noted Kirk wore civilian classified attire. His objectively handsome face was now clear of any sign of violence or damage. Kirk’s casual, tight-fitting apparel blended with the general public’s dress code better than Spock’s Starfleet-issued red. As Kirk neared, Spock rose to meet him. Hands tucked behind his back.

“I have procured us a table,” he offered by way of greeting.

Kirk’s eyes creased even further with amusement. “At ease cadet, but thanks. For the table I mean.”

He followed Spock’s lead and took a seat. As they faced one another, Kirk appeared unsure for the first time, wiping his hands intermittently against the fabric of his pants. “Sorry I’m a little late. You, uh, been here long?”

“I arrived 33 minutes ahead of schedule in order to allow myself time to prepare.”

Kirk chuckled. “First of all, wow. Second of all, what exactly does today entail that involves that 33 minutes of prep?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

Spock rotated his PADD on the table’s slick surface to face Kirk. “I have made a copy of my own schedule for the next three weeks. I took the preemptive liberty of sending the chart to your file. In regards to future meetings-”

“Future meetings?”

“We also have yet to discuss your compensation fee.”

Kirk’s brow immediately furrowed, “Compensation? What?”

“Is it not customary to offer payment for services?”

“Jesus – services?” Kirk instinctively recoiled. “I thought…hold on, why did you ask me here?”

“I must admit, I was surprised by your initial acceptance of my offer, considering the lack of detailed information.”

“So this isn’t…? I can’t believe I actually thought you were interested in me,” he mumbled into his palms, before dragging them over his face.

“I am interested, cadet, in your proficiency in human social interactions.  I regret if I misled you as to my intentions. I merely wish to become better acquainted with Earth’s predominant culture,” Spock gathered his mind, crystallized his focus on the task at hand. “There is a human female for whom I harbor romantic intentions, yet I am hindered by my ignorance of the nuances of human courtship. My studies have proven-“

“I hate to break it to you,” Kirk placed both hands on the table, pitching himself forward, “but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.” He turned on the bench as if to exit.

“But you are well-versed in human customs."

Kirk paused with his back turned to Spock, muscles tense and shoulders drawn upwards. “Some might argue you on that point,” he said as he chanced another look. “Don’t you have a lab partner or someone else you can bother about this?”

“If I felt I had a more tenable option, I assure you, I would employ it.”

“You’re a real sweet talker, you know that?” Kirk faced him with a humorless smile.

“If you choose to stay,” Spock inhaled so as to center himself. “I am willing to offer you 200 Federation credits per session.”

Kirk slid back into his seat. “When do we start?” 

______ 

 

“Remind me again why I’m wastin’ my time in this godforsaken waste bin?”

“Can’t hear you – !” Jim shouted theatrically through the glass, tapping the polycarbonate shell covering his head.

“Goddamit Jim, you can hear every word I’m saying!”

Jim continued to soundlessly mouth “what” in faux-confusion.

The words “Antimatter Waste” were printed in nondescript Academy-standard font on the wall above him.  Jim crouched further to plunge the vacuum tube into the antimatter tank with thick, gloved hands. The third chamber rattled irritably. He and McCoy had spent the past half an hour cleaning as a consequence of Jim’s latest disciplinary run-in with his professor.

“My god man.” McCoy stared with both amusement and frustration, vacuum buzzing like an old-fashioned hacksaw in his hand.

His look of abhorrence was tinted luminescent yellow behind his mask. McCoy pointed the loud device at Jim accusingly. “And don’t you talk to me about hurrying,” he lectured, “I’m not the one who got the harebrained idea to harass my professor.” McCoy then grumbled, “Back in my day, we had machines to do this sort’a thing,”

“I’m pretty sure the Academy has their fair share of maintenance bots,” Jim rested back on his haunches. “I’m also pretty sure this isn’t legal. Who would’ve known he’d get so mad over a little in-class discussion?"

“You challenged the whole damn theory the man based his life’s work on,” McCoy deadpanned.

“There are political consequences to those numbers, Bones!” Jim exclaimed, even as the mask muffled his voice into a low murmur.

There was a pause before McCoy flipped the safety mask up to reveal his face, shield jutting out from his forehead. “Listen kid, I know it’s a transition, but when are you gonna stop acting like you’re back in the cornfields and grow up?”

Jim offered a noncommittal shrug. Another beat of silence passed between them, with only the roar of the nearby decelerator humming in the background. "Listen to me,” McCoy shook his head, “I’m sorry Jim, I sound like my old man.”

“I bring it out in people."

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have a seminar to go to?”

“Friday? Can’t, I’ve gotta meet Spock.”

 “Who?” McCoy furrowed his brow.

“Remember that Vulcan from the bar?”

“Yeah? Well, congratulations kid, hope it works out for ya.” McCoy turned back to his work.

“It’s not like that,” Kirk replied into the whirring of the machine. “It actually couldn’t be any less like that – he wants me to help set him up with some chick.”

“Who does he–“

“Plus,” Jim interrupted, “– and this is the cherry on top – he’s paying me for it.”

“Jim, you don’t owe this guy anything-“ McCoy started gruffly, effectively abandoning the task altogether as he stood to face him.

“Yea well, I can’t exactly turn down that many credits. Apparently his dad is an ambassador, and I don’t know if you’ve taken a look at my account lately, but last semester’s extra hours did a fuckin’ number on me, even with my ‘sorry your dad died’ scholarship. Besides, I need something to keep me busy.”

“Keep you busy? Good god man, you’ve barely got enough time to sleep. And lemme make sure I got this straight. You won’t accept anything from me, but you’ll take this ambassador’s son’s credits?”

“That’s different, and you know it.”

“And I told you, I don’t mind.” McCoy grimaced as he stretched his arm to recover the forgotten vacuum, twisted under a pile of reactor core debris. “Just ‘til you can pay me back. She’ll come around eventually. You’re blood and that counts for somethin’.”

“A couple stints in juvie and you’d think I’d spit on my dad’s grave,” Jim threw up his oversized gloved hands as much as the suit would allow. “What does she think I’m gonna do? Blow it all on White?”

“She’s gonna figure it out at some point, takes time s’all. And then you can pay me back and you don’t have to do any match making for any damn Vulcans.” McCoy cursed as another piece of debris went flying from a misplaced gust of air.

“Bones,” Jim stared at him pointedly, “I’ve got this.”McCoy eventually dropped the subject as they finished the task at hand. All the while, the initial humiliating sting of rejection, the expression or lack thereof on Spock’s face, replayed on an endless loop in Jim’s head. Here he was, hoping to at least make a buck from the whole mortifying ordeal. 

____

  

Spock untucked his legs from their kneeling position and allowed himself a long breath as he withdrew from his meditative state. He stored away his tho’san stone and the extinguished firepot in a neat line at the foot of his bed. Smoke curled in the otherwise still air as Spock moved to clear the items with the grace of practiced hands.

The day had been somewhat trying. His peers had not heeded his suggestion during their last lab session – resulting in a mishap with the supplies– in addition to his organic chemistry professor being unavailable to meet to discuss their upcoming assignment. Buttoning his uniform, Spock could not help but acknowledge that the anticipation of tonight had done little to calm him. He smoothed the front of his jacket before sitting down in front of his Comm screen. He instructed his computer to connect with his family’s personal channel on Vulcan. After several minutes, the screen flickered on to reveal his mother’s smiling face. It had been one month since their last transmission – the longest span of time during which he and his mother had gone without communicating. 

“Shacha Mekina”

“Hello Spock,” his mother’s eyes shone, just as they had at their last meeting. “I’m so glad to see you.” She wore her hair uncovered, tucked behind her rounded ears. She was dressed in her sage-colored robe, which Spock knew to be the item of clothing she most favored. The familiar sight brought memories to the forefront of Spock’s mind; his mother smiling over her shoulder in their library, of the noon sun warming her back as she stood in their home’s kitchen.

“Mother, I trust you are in good health?”

“I am very well, thank you Spock. I’m managing fine, even though I no longer have you here to make my tea for me.”

“Mother, we have discussed this. My technique does not differ from the customary Vulcan methods,” Spock folded his hands on the desk, his body suddenly stiff with an unforeseen tension.  “Do you not have the instructions I provided? I had told father-”

“I do,” she soothed, “but it’s not quite the same on my own,” she looked back at him fondly, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Never mind my silliness. How are your courses? Have you had time to meet more of the other students this semester?" 

“Thus far my courses have been satisfactory.”

Her expression softened.

“Your concern is unfounded.” He replied sharply. Spock felt discomfort at the thought of social interactions with humans, logically followed by thoughts of Jim Kirk and their impending lessons. Spock thought of one day easing his mother’s concerns. “I recently engaged in a mutually beneficial arrangement with one of my classmates to gain a fuller understanding of our shared relativistic mechanics lesson material. She is an exemplary student. I believe it is a logical course of action.”

“Oh Spock, that’s wonderful!” she pressed a hand to her chest, where the human heart was located.

“Our session was productive.” He paused before adding, “At certain intervals, we engaged in discourse unrelated to the materials at hand.” Spock recalled Jim Kirk grinning up at Nyota. His blue eyes sparkling as droplets of blood escaping through his fingers fruitlessly pressed to his nose.

“Does she have a name?”

“Nyota Uhura.”

“I hope to hear more about her in the future.”

“It is my hope as well,” Spock admitted. “Did you receive my latest report?”

“I did. It was commendable, as always.” she spoke, though her voice was no longer unfailingly upbeat. Spock watched the way her emotions played out over her features, open to interpretation as ever. Although he was hesitant to admit a preference, Spock found something akin to comfort in her human nature. “Honey, I want you to know that your father and I are very proud of you.”

Thanks to his prior meditation, Spock was able to find his center once more without too great a strain. It had been 16 months since Spock had exchanged more than a formal, precursory greeting with his father. It had not gone unnoted that the precise date of his father’s withdrawal coincided with Spock’s rejection of admission to the Vulcan Science Academy. Spock had come to understand that Sarek could only see the rejection of the Science Academy as a rejection of the Vulcan way itself. He viewed the decision as a sign of disrespect for their efforts (while unasked for) to integrate their son into Vulcan society. Most pointedly, Spock believed his father viewed it as a failure of Spock’s logic. He could not see Spock’s achievements at Starfleet without also seeing the phantoms of accomplishments that could have been on his home planet.

“You know, he’s become much more comfortable with the idea,” she asserted. If it was in an effort to assuage either Spock or herself, Spock could not be sure. He suspected it to be both. “Although he struggles, it does not mean that he doesn’t care for you as much as I do.”

“I will trust your judgment on the matter,” Spock replied without further comment.

She took a deep breath and briefly looked away from the screen. Even as she turned, Spock could still see the moisture gleaming in her eyes.

Spock forced himself to speak into the ensuing silence, “I will be available to speak again at this same time next week.”

“I look forward to it,” she smiled despite the lingering tension.

“It is becoming late.”

“Of course. But Spock, I hope you know that you’re always in my thoughts.”

“As you are in mine.” The monitor shut off, leaving Spock alone in the near-dusk darkness of his quarters. He methodically rose, unbuttoned his jacket and removed his pants. Spock then lay down in his bed and willed his bodily functions to slow, although he found he was no longer tired.  


Week 1 

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jim broke off the kiss with a groan.

“What?” Anipa continued the grinding motion of her hips, much to Jim’s dismay. “Leave something burning in the lab, academy boy?” 

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and willed his libido down. His roommate had a mock interplanetary court club for another hour. The argument played out in his head: how could he be expected to just walk away when Anipa’s skin was so warm, and soft and…clearly not worth standing someone up for when credits were on the line.

“I’m supposed to meet a guy,” Jim let his head fall back against the chair with a long-suffering sigh. Anipa gave him a coy look in response. “Not like that, Jesus! You know I do do other things right?" 

“My point exactly,” she gave him a sharp grin and leaned back to allow more space between them. Jim let out another groan, this time in protest. “I’m getting up, I’m getting up.” She laughed as she watched Jim grip the armrests and wordlessly count to ten.

Once she vacated his lap, Jim immediately snatched up his shirt from the floor, wrestling to pull it on right-side-out on his second try. “You know, the Xeno Ling meeting got canceled and I’ve only got a couple more chapters for that other class. Maybe we could meet up later?” Jim crouched and pressed against the floor in search of his boot. 

“I have to work a double at the bar tonight,” she rolled her neck and pulled her long hair into a knot.

“Rain check?” Jim popped his head back up hopefully with the retrieved boot dangling in his hand.

“You know,” she said conversationally as she glanced over herself in the mirror, “I should turn you down just to keep that ego in check. Where do you-” As she turned around just as Jim’s other boot caught her foot and caused her to stumble, mid-sentence. Anipa let out an irritated growl as she righted herself.

“Next Friday?” he laughed.

She offered her middle finger to Jim as he slipped out the door.  

_____

 

Cadet Kirk stood outside Spock’s door, winded despite his best efforts to conceal it. He took in the cadet’s appearance; pupils blown and shirt collar pulled askew. 

“I see you have not lost your – I believe the word is ‘knack,’ since our last meeting, cadet.”

Kirk opened and closed his mouth, before speaking, “Hi Spock. I’m fantastic, thanks for asking.  How are you?“ 

“My mental and physical well-being are satisfactory.”

Kirk rolled his eyes and inclined his head towards Spock’s quarters. “Are, uh, you gonna let me in or are we doing this in the hallway?” Spock silently stepped aside so that Kirk could pass through the door.

Kirk immediately surveyed the room upon entering. There were undeniable benefits to being the son of a foreign ambassador, Spock recognized. Thanks to his father’s influence, he had been assigned a room with a Hekaran named Rema, an upper-level student who spent a majority of hir time as a lab assistant. This left Spock with a great deal time alone in their quarters. The room was larger than the standard issued dorms for underclassmen. Their apartment included a small eating and replicator area, as graduate students were permitted to take main meals outside the mess hall. He and Rema each had separate, sparsely furnished sleeping quarters. There was also a significantly large window, which looked out onto a small courtyard.

Kirk did little to hide his curiosity, craning his neck around the corners and into Spock’s bedroom. He walked through the common area and plopped onto the edge of Spock’s bed without invitation.

“You may be seated,” Spock offered. The sheets that had been tucked in and folded, in accordance with the Starfleet regulation handbook strained from their confines. Spock quelled an irrational grief as the fabric pulled out of place from under Kirk’s weight.

He once more tempered his distaste. Such a preoccupation would be counterproductive to the matter at hand. Spock detachedly observed Kirk for another moment; the way his hands curled and uncurled with the need for something to occupy themselves. Cadet Kirk seemed ill at ease, increasingly so as the moment stretched lengthily between them. Kirk opened his mouth just as Spock began to speak.

“Would you care to-“

“So did you-“

Kirk stopped and let out a weak chuckle, leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs. Always in motion.

“Please continue, cadet,” Spock offered.

“Thanks. So, um, where did you want to start exactly?”

“You are the ‘expert’ in the matter are you not? I shall defer to your judgment.”

“Ok….” Kirk seemed to grapple with the request; Spock stood before him like the handbook personified, down to the line of his shoulders and the intimidating set of his mouth. A bastion of Starfleet regulation. “How about you bring me up to speed? What’s the story with you and your….”

“I presume you are referring to Cadet Uhura, although I do not yet claim any bond to her.”

Kirk’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You mean that girl from before is the one I’m setting you up with? You guys are already study-buddies? You’re halfway there!” Spock stared blankly back in response.

“I do not mix academic work with social trivialities. I am sure Nyota feels the same.” It was then that Spock gave a tilt to his head, voice cool, “Furthermore cadet, I ask that you keep such insinuations to yourself.”

“Jesus,” Kirk let out a breath. He leaned his weight onto his legs again, muttering, “Sometimes I forget I’m talking to a brick wall, is all.”

Spock’s posture stiffened. For all of his imprudent demeanor and carelessness, Kirk seemed to quickly pick up on the change.

“You know, I think I wrote a paper once about Vulcan hearing,” he sheepishly peered up at Spock through his lashes.

“Fascinating.”

Kirk broke their brief eye contact before clearing his throat. “All I’m trying to say is that, believe it or not, Nyota might be interested in more than just studying during your little sessions.”

“Session,” Spock corrected, “A singular incident, for which you were present.”

Kirk brushed the reference aside. “Ok, but point is, we need to go over some human body language basics if we’re going to get anywhere.”

Spock raised an eyebrow in reply.

“Trust me, if there’s anything I’m sure about, it’s my ability to tell when someone isn’t putting up with my shit on any given night.” He sat up straighter and began to tick off his fingers. “If she’s interested she may be smiling more, angling her body towards you,” he demonstrated by shifting on the bed, “Touching herself in some way, just generally getting more animated. Does that ring any bells?”

“Cadet Uhura always conducts herself in a professional manner,” Spock retorted.

“It would be subconscious. People are a pretty simple read,” Kirk explained. “You on the other hand…call me crazy, but something tells me the girl’s not gonna see this one coming. Your emotional cues are probably a tad subdued. Maybe we can work on flirting.”

“Vulcans do not ‘flirt.’ In regards to the subtlety of my desires, on my home planet, I assure you the great ease by which others could discern my motivations was verbally noted on multiple occasions.”

“We need a game plan,” Kirk said instead of acknowledging the comment. “Talk to her, find out what she likes. Gauge her reactions. You gotta go for it. But don’t over think it. It’s all about baby steps.”

Spock found the assignment – as commonly phrased by Earthlings – considerably easier said than done.

________

 

That night, Spock catalogued all 314 of the universe’s known elements, listed in chronological order of discovery.

Gold, mercury, sulfur, zinc, bismuth, hafnium, rhenium, neptunium, corbomite, dilithium, tritanium.

Spock had difficulty concentrating on the various tasks at hand. He sat in position at the foot of his bed, feeling the rush of air through his nostrils return again from between his lips.

Silver, calcium, hydrogen, sulfur, transuranic, latinum rodinium, trilithium uranium.

Spock pictured a vertical spear of rock, jutting out of the landscape. The desert sun melted into the smooth, sand-colored surface while receding into cool shadow of the crevices.

The vision was interrupted by the ghost of cadet Kirk hovered obdurately at the edge of Spock’s bed with a smile. Whether it was meant to be mocking or otherwise, Spock could not discern. Feelings of inadequacy overwhelmed him.

Spock awoke with a start. A dream, he had not been subject to one since childhood. He closed his eyes once more to center himself, head resting at the center of his pillow. Even in sleep, Spock registered he had balled into fists.

 

Week 3

 

Cadet Uhura sat two rows in front and three seats to the left of Spock once a week during class. There were times when Spock would admit to desiring that the seating chart was otherwise organized, so as to place Nyota outside of his line of sight.

The professor shut off the hologram at the front of the class. The students took the action as their cue to begin packing their belongings. Spock watched Nyota turn to her friend, laughter in her eyes, alight with whatever private joke they had exchanged. Spock stood motionless, even as he knew he had a short window during which to commandeer Nyota’s attention. Nyota shouldered a bag and moved to file out of the row of seats, into the aisle.

Reflexes somewhat dulled, Spock stared after her for a moment longer before he moved towards the exit. "Cadet Uhura!” he called, focusing the majority of his mental energies upon projecting a steady, even voice.

“Spock!” She turned around with a smile and shifted her bag to motion towards her companion, a Deltan with a remarkably large cranium. “This is Tayv, have you met?”

“We have not yet been acquainted,” Spock nodded his acknowledgement before turning back to Nyota. Out of the corner of his eye, it appeared as if Tayv was rolling her eyes. Spock could not be certain. “Cadet Uhura, may I accompany you?”

Nyota looked surprised, and glanced back at Tayv as if for approval. “Oh! Well…I was just going to go change before fencing, but you’re welcome to come along.”

“That would be agreeable.”

“I’ll catch you later,” Tayv said to Uhura, although her eyes remained locked on Spock.

Spock and Uhura fell into step and made their way down the hallway. As they walked, Uhura periodically looked up at him, her gaze expectant and increasingly curious. Spock proceeded to weigh his various options by which he could initiate the conversation.

“Do you find the course provides you with sufficient training?”

Uhura huffed out a laugh, which only served to garner a puzzled expression from Spock. “I enjoy it just fine, thank you.”

“Are there other courses or extracurricular activities you enjoy?” he pressed.

“Slow down Spock,” she chuckled before physically stopping them by moving to stand in his way.

“My apologies,” Spock blinked down at her, eyes shifting between her hand against his uniform sleeve and her face.

“Here,” she removed the hand from Spock’s arm to retrieve a minute item from her pocket. “I realized you forgot your vid-stylus the other day in the study room. I was wondering when you’d ask.”

Spock stared back, her hand extended towards him with the thin, metal device between her finger and thumb. “I thank you,” Spock replied, voice pitched low as he retrieved the device. “If you will excuse me. I wish you a productive afternoon.”

“Oh, well…I’ll see you in class on Wednesday?”

“Indeed,” Spock nodded in lieu of farewell and began to walk opposite of their previous direction. He strode without any clear destination, guided only by the desire to create distance between himself and Cadet Uhura. He closed his eyes for one brief moment as he slipped the vid-stylus into his own pocket. Spock was not scheduled to attend another lecture for another hour. He calculated that he might meditate in that time period, in place of his usual review of his reading materials. Spock found he required an increased number of meditation sessions as of late, a fact that was not altogether agreeable.

 Kirk would not be available until later that evening.

 ________

  

“So do I get, like, some kind of overtime?” Kirk yawned too-wide, to the point that Spock could see the uneven crowns of his teeth circling the pink of his tongue.

Eyes heavily lidded and hair unkempt, Kirk seemed unconcerned as usual with his appearance. He had propped himself in the doorway to his dormitory while addressing Spock. The dimmed lights in the hallway were casting shadows upon his face, the darkness a reminder to cadets to prepare for sleep, as per the liberally-enforced curfew.

By 23:00 Spock had completed his coursework, visited the Academy’s fitness facility for a cardio session (in accordance with his Monday regimen), taken his meal and read a majority of Orion theorist Halim Ulmin’s findings on space travel in relation to the creative capabilities of non-carbon based organisms. The interaction with Uhura plagued him throughout his activities. Unable to commit his full attention to the chess program at hand, he had found himself walking the path to Kirk’s room.The cadet now stood unabashedly clad in briefs, accompanied by a bleary, yet un-self conscious expression. Spock wondered privately if an occasion might arise when Kirk’s physical appearance was not in some form of disarray at the time of their meeting.

“I attempted to assemble more information, as per recommendation, in my effort to better establish a human familiarity with cadet Uhura.”

“And?” Kirk rubbed at his left eye and twisted his body in a way that seemed to block the entrance further.

“The venture was unsuccessful.”

“Ok,” Kirk shifted and folded his arms across his chest. “Walk me through it."

“As I have stated, I sought to learn more of her extracurricular interests or activities. I first asked permission to walk with her, to which she agreed. I began to make inquiries. When I attempted to gather more detailed data, she halted the conversation to offer me my misplaced vid-stylus.”

 "I’m listening, I’m listening. Keep going.” Kirk unfolded his arms to scratch where his shirt rode up above his boxer briefs.

Spock’s mind ran through the interaction alongside various facts concerning Terran etiquette. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he had erred in some way, a fact he was still reluctant to concede. “It was then that I excused myself.”

“You ‘excused’ yourself?” Kirk finally righted himself by pushing off of the doorframe and into a standing position. “So that’s your way of saying you bolted?”

“My departure may have been premature.”

“Premature…” He muttered incredulously.

“I admit, I am unsure of the next course of action,” Spock fixed his eyes at a point behind Kirk’s head.

“You’re fine,” Kirk replied dismissively. “You just got cold feet. It happens to everyone.”

“Vulcans do not experience what you term as ‘cold feet.’”

“Whatever you say,” he said dismissively. “You just gotta try again. Maybe don’t run away next time.”

Spock’s eyes shifted back to Kirk, expression stiffened, even as his voice retained its even tone. “Do not presume to know me so well, cadet. It is possible that the failing is in your prescribed method.”

“You know what,” Kirk snapped, “I’ve got an eight o’clock class. Have fun with your superior methods. Let me know how those work for you.”

For a moment, Spock stood in silence before speaking, “It would be…preferable if you did not leave.”

Kirk turned around. “Why? So I can stay and presume more about your non-existent emotions? Or do you want to keep explaining to me how I don’t know shit about my own species?”

“I may have blundered in my dismissal of your methods.”

“Go on,” Kirk held him with an expectant stare.

If he were fully human, Spock might identify the surge of discomfort as a form of shame. He instead suppressed it before it could fully manifest itself in his mind. 

Kirk didn’t look away.

“My period of adjustment to this planet’s cultural practices has been unexpectedly trying,” Spock continued. “I have participated in conversations unrelated to my academic studies with precisely two individuals, one being cadet Uhura. The other is yourself. In addition, I believe my mother finds my social progress disheartening. I believe my father would not assess my situation favorably, although I have not spoken to him in 16.7 months, following my rejection of admittance to the Vulcan Science Academy.”

Kirk whistled lowly after another pause. “Don’t I feel like an asshole.”

“That was not the intention-“

“I know, I know. Anyways, it’s kind of my default. Defense mechanism. Troubled childhood. Whatever Bones wants to call it depending on his mood.” He chanced another look at Spock’s face and promptly broke out into a laugh. “Seriously, I’m not looking for a response. Don’t hurt yourself.

The conversation began to devolve, as Spock attempted to parse out the ways in which he had mishandled his interaction with Uhura. As their discussion found a lull, Kirk cleared his throat. “Not to be rude, but I do really have a class…” He fingered the edges of the doorframe.

“Understood.”

“I’ll Comm you later, ok?” Kirk offered, in what seemed to be an apologetic tone. Spock nodded his acknowledgement and did an about-face. His advanced hearing picked up a small chuckle from behind him. 

_________

 

Kirk flicked away the screen on his PADD with a relaxed movement of his wrist. They had spent nearly an hour quizzing Spock on Kirk’s principals of dating. Spock seemed to be growing increasingly uneasy and simultaneously fixated on Kirk’s imagined scoreboard of correct and incorrect answers to the “flashcards,” as the cadet termed them. As the week was finished and both he and Kirk had a free period, Spock was dressed in his typical grey, off-duty tunic, while Kirk had opted for a white tee shirt. According to Kirk, the slightly warmer temperature of Spock’s room required he dress down.

“The three basics,” Kirk lounged across the foot of Spock’s bed and absent-mindedly. ran his fingers over the edges of the PADD.

“Unnecessary,” Spock replied with an expression very close to that of relief. “I have already supplied answers for this card once bef– “

“Hey,” Kirk brandished a finger to halt him mid-sentence, “Practice makes perfect.”

“That is a highly illogical statement.” Spock murmured, although resigned to his fate. He noted that the corner of Kirk’s mouth twitched. He watched the way Kirk struggled and failed to studiously examine the digitally projected card.

“Answer the question.” Kirk looked back up, features once more under control and void of laughter. His full lips set once more in a neutral line to mirror Spock’s own expression.

“A traditional human date is confined to two people, with exception to previously stated polyamorous intentions.” Spock looked to Kirk for a nod of assurance before continuing, “The traditional human date should center on a mutually enjoyable activity which both parties have agreed upon prior to the event. The purpose of the human ritual is to establish or validate romantic compatibility.”

“Nailed it,” Kirk beamed, eyes alight. Spock’s stare lingered. Even after a year spent primarily among humans, the precise color of Jim Kirk’s eyes managed to surprise Spock in moments such as these. He did not feel attraction towards Kirk. Quite the opposite. He conducted himself in ways unfit for a Starfleet cadet of his status and lineage. He wasted his potential constantly. The spark in Jim's eyes only grew brighter when met with Spock’s stare. While Vulcans did not require praise, Spock felt gratification fill his chest and cheeks. The illogical pleasure of it was short-lived as Kirk unnecessarily cleared his throat a third time and swiped his finger to another card.

“Approaching a romantic interest in a bar.”

“Offer to purchase the individual in question a drink to signify interest.”

Kirk repositioned himself once again before looking at Spock. “Ok, now give me ways to end a human date.”

“Verbalize if one has had an enjoyable experience and establish the possibility of a future outing of a similar nature.”

“And…”

“I believe I have provided a sufficient amount of information.”

“Want to know what I think?” said Kirk, an impish edge to his smile.

Spock’s eyes narrowed in the face of it. He had come to recognize certain physical signs as warnings of impending victories at Spock’s expense. “I distinctly lack such a desire.”

“I think you’re purposefully omitting.” The speed of Kirk’s speech had increased, as if giddy with pride over his deduction. “You leave out the physical aspects because they’re least familiar. That’s counterproductive and you know it.”  

Spock contained a spike of irritation. He would provide the information, if only to cease Kirk’s prompting. “One may also end a human date by engaging in an act of physical affection,” he supplied tonelessly. “Acceptable forms include an embrace or a human kiss – provided that the other party expresses consent.”

“Now was that so hard?” When Spock did not immediately reply, he heard but did not see Kirk let out a small breath. “I’m sorry. Sorry. You were justifiably uncomfortable and I was being an asshole again wasn’t I?”

Spock remained silent.

“Hey –“ Kirk’s warm, hushed voice was suddenly much closer. Spock lifted his gaze to find Kirk leaning into his space, left hand crushing the bedding, mere inches away. Spock’s breath momentarily staled. He could make out the thin, periwinkle blood vessels under the skin of Kirk’s eyes, made all the more prominent from dehydration and lack of sleep. Spock’s side unexpectedly ached for contact he had never experienced. Spock had not seen this particular expression on the man’s features before. It held his attention and refused to release him. Spock could only describe it in Standard as careful. It softened Kirk's features, the way it was directed wholly at Spock. He became aware of the sudden increased need for oxygen. His heart rate increased almost imperceptibly. Kirk continued, "I know it’s not easy. I’m sorry, but I promise it’ll be ok.”

All at once, the distance between them felt unbearably vast to Spock. The nameless something inside of him, both recoiled and called out to Kirk. If he only tasted him for a moment, perhaps this feeling would leave him once and for all. For a startling second, Spock wondered at how the texture of Kirk’s lips might feel under his own.

“Spock?” Kirk raised his voice with concern.

Spock took another moment to subdue the emotion. Kirk shifted towards him and shut off his PADD as informed by its gentle ping. The room still held the lingering scent of a pungent native dish Spock’s roommate had chosen to store in their quarters. The aroma mixed with the suddenly intoxicating scent of Jim’s sweat.

“Yes.”

“Yes…?”

“Yes, you are forgiven. It is typical for Terrans to disregard the customs of other cultures and civilizations, is it not?” Spock acted on his instinct to emotionally distance himself from Kirk, so as to fight his building urges.

“Spock. I’m trying, ok? Give me a break.”

“I am not sure I understand your meaning,” he purposefully deflected.

“Bullshit. It’s been weeks, that routine isn’t gonna work with me. I know you understand and I know that you know I don’t just want a handful of credits.” Kirk stopped as soon as the words left his mouth. He seemed surprised at himself for having made the admission. His chest rose and fell with a decidedly different kind of energy. He extended a hand towards Spock, perhaps unconsciously, only to curl back and rest between them on the thin blanket. "I want…” He looked down at said hand as if studying the usefulness of it. “Do you have any interest in friendship, or is this just…” Kirk flung a hand between them, “Some business transaction to help you charm a girl who, by the way, I’m pretty sure is already into you. Because I kind of want it to be.”

“To assume her level of interest without further evidence is unwise-“

“Spock,” Kirk pleaded.

“We did not have ‘friends’ on Vulcan as humans describe them. Alliances in Vulcan society were formed based on intellectual or social benefit. I was not privy to such arrangements.”

“Is that your way of saying you were unpopular?” Kirk’s voice grew somewhat softer as he continued to study Spock. His eyes darted across the other cadet’s neatly schooled features.

“Yes.” The initial, illogical distress Spock had felt during childhood had long since faded. He had managed overcome it with maturity and the subsequent strengthening of his mind. Yet the idea of aligning with Jim Kirk in a friendship was undeniably appealing and satisfying in a way that could only be linked back to its absence.

“Yes,’ you were unpopular or ‘yes,’ you’re into being friends beyond this arrangement?”

“Both.”

“That’s great.” The size of his smile was evident despite his efforts to angle his face away from Spock. “That’s really great. Fuck wait, I mean, not that you were unpopular. God, I didn’t mean it like that. The other part about being friends. That part’s great.”

“Your meaning is clear,” Spock’s lips quirked.

“Fuck me.” Kirk scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “I’ll have you know, some people have described me as charming. People who aren’t you of course.”

Spock looked directly at Kirk, the picture of neutral-curiosity. “Humans are well-known for their favor of untruths over perceived-painful truths in order to protect the pride of others.”

“You son of a bitch,” the corners of Kirk’s eyes creased with silent laughter. Spock decided that the sight was decidedly not unpleasant. “You know that joke would’ve been a hell of a lot more convincing if you hadn’t hired me to teach you how to get a date.”

“I am merely partaking in the human tendency to insult those they consider friends as a sign of trust.”

Kirk let out a high-pitched whistle and ginned, wide and unguarded. The force of it was such that Spock could nearly feel himself mirroring the expression. “Somebody’s been doing their homework.”

They resumed their exercise for four more cards at Spock’s request with a quarter of their previous focus.  On more than one occasion, Spock noticed cadet Kirk’s gaze shifting to him, away from the information on the shimmering digital cards. Eventually the lesson was forgotten in favor of Kirk’s latest Xenolinguistic club presentation, seen blinking in the corner of his screen as a notification reminder. Kirk had derided the club as mostly a resume filler with a dwindling attendance after Spock had asked to see the last meeting’s minutes. Nevertheless, Spock found himself listening to Kirk animatedly detailing his conversation-turned- heated debate with their new Tellarite member, making a poor attempt to replicate the precise irate syllables.

When Spock’s roommate entered the dorm, Kirk and Spock were hunched over Kirk’s PADD, halfway through Kirk’s poorly drawn version of the Tellarite alphabet. They declined to notice his entrance. 

Week 6

 

Jim Kirk lay on his back and stared up into the shrill, bright lights of the gym’s vaulted ceiling. He took a moment before beginning his next rotation of crunches. After another minute, he hoisted himself up once more and angled his torso as far to the left as possible, until he felt a strain in his abdominal muscles. The training hall was silent save for the incessant creak-clang-buzz of equipment echoing off the expansive, colorless walls. The Academy’s fitness amenities were as bloated and overzealous as any other branch of the Starfleet campus. Yet, the three stories devoted to producing brutally fit, pacifist Starfleet leaders bordered on absurd.

Jim was currently on the weight-training level, surrounded by equipment, a majority of which he couldn’t even name. Outside, the morning had only just started to pale the horizon line, grass slick with pre-dawn fog rolling off of the bay. Jim settled into the repetition of his set. Sometimes, during a particularly grueling session following an equally grueling night, Jim would grind his teeth and wallow in fantasies. He squeezed his eyes shut now and imagined the deafening buzz of needles-turned-guns whirring in his ear and breaking the skin. Sometimes, he’d dream about letting his brain rot in a desolate, golden-green Iowa field, far out of reach of Pike or any other well-meaning, goal setting and encouraging slaps on the back.

Mid-push up, Jim’s arms shook, weakened from yesterday’s decision to add another five pounds, as he lowered his nose to the black matt that stunk of both stale sweat and disinfectant. The sound of his Comm beside him finally broke Jim’s train of thought. He collapsed onto his side and pulled the corner of his already damp tank to wipe away the stinging layer of sweat from his eyes and upper lip. Breathing labored, he blinked at the screen in an effort to blurrily read Spock’s name.

PADDs were prohibited in the fitness facility as a means of precaution. The Starfleet handbook described the various ways in which cadets could damage themselves or the Academy-issued device around the facility’s high-tech equipment. And yet, Jim had never seen fit to abide by it. Spock had resigned himself to this reality surprisingly quickly.

<< Uhura has informed me that my likeness appeared in her dream last night. She assured me it was not negative. As an objective third party, do you believe this to be a favorable sign? >>

Moisture from Jim’s fingertips smeared the keypad as Jim felt for a response. Leave it to Spock. Jim smirked in spite of himself.

<< That’s a good sign trust me. –jtk >>

Another several seconds passed before his PADD vibrated once more. Jim reached without a second thought. Spock’s name lit up the screen, simply followed by, “I find that I do."

His stomach swooped and his face heated up in a way that had little to do with the burn in his muscles or the hurt in his lungs. Jim inwardly chided himself for his stupidity. Spock was chasing Uhura. All of Jim’s new, half-assed pining was pointless and humiliating to boot.

Yet even as Jim began packing his things, Spock’s words hung in front of his vision like sunspots that refused to fade. He forced himself to focus on Bones’ upcoming birthday. Jim thought he’d see if he could coerce the old man into going out to celebrate. Jim threw his hydration-band into his duffle bag.  Maybe he could round up some people. For a brief moment, his mind circled back to Spock. He envisioned showing up together, with Spock as his date, in front of all his friends. It was the kind of forbidden daydream that made Jim’s head feel too full and light all at once. The thought of the text kept buoying up. It bubbled happily in Jim’s chest as he stepped out of the sonic shower and into his uniform, fabric course against his newly cleaned skin.

Turning over the Comm in the palm of his hand, it occurred to Jim that he and Spock were in communication more often than not. Occasionally it was about Uhura, but mostly it was simply reviewing the minutiae of each other’s days – the courses, classmates, the crushing weight of Starfleet’s expectations. Jim realized Spock had somehow become part of his routine. Jim remembered the way Spock had turned green after he had asked whether he should refer to Spock as orsenu or t’kam’la. Jim had been trying to pick up a new word in Vulcan each week (based upon his rough-at-best, single semester-worth of knowledge). But the old edition of the translator had been disappointingly vague and the new one wouldn’t download without a password.

Spock had simply mumbled that difference between the two was of familiarity and left it at that. Jim could still picture the expression on Spock’s normally stoic face. A quick search through the Academy database had clarified that t’kam’la was reserved for a more intimate relationship, someone the speaker cherished and vice versa. And yet, Jim couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed. When his PADD rumbled again from inside his duffle, Jim pulled it back out with illogical giddiness. 

Another message from Spock and a notification from an off-brand book supplier warned him that his copy of  “Romulan Demystified: Introduction to Syntax and Morphology” would be deleted if his credits were not processed in the next 30 days. Below it, he spotted another unopened message from his professor, flickering accusingly up at him. It was the message Jim had spent the past week avoiding – a  reminder to meet S’Lehaz during lunch period.

Their relationship had only become more complicated once Jim found out S’Lehaz had taken Spock under his wing in some symbolic act of goodwill between their races. It turned out Spock drew a lot of attention on campus.

Jim closed the window of text and returned the device to his bag. Ignoring the problem had been Jim’s preferred coping mechanisms for as long as he could remember. One incident in particular stuck out. It had been his twelfth birthday. Even as a child, Jim had known how it would go, how it went every year. All of his friends at school yelled and screamed up and down the hallways at each other the week of their birthdays with big smiles. Jim had envied them with every ounce of bitterness in his small heart. So that particular year, he’d decided he simply wouldn’t have a birthday.

Morning came, with the scolding light of the sun shining through his threadbare blue curtains, but Jim didn’t get up. If he didn’t open his eyes, the whole day would come and go and he’d never be the wiser. So he stayed like that through the too-cheery call for banana pancakes that escalated into distressed pleas from his mother through his locked door to please come out. It had been too hot under the sheets and blanket. There wasn’t enough air. Jim had held his breath and kept his tawny head under the pile, regardless. Sam’s voice joined his mom’s. If Sam could get in, he’d most likely have sat on him until Jim squealed with pain. If Frank got in…Jim imagined his mother’s cold pancakes and the fact that she never cried.

Later on, he had learned that Sam had gone out with his friends, and left his mother to wait downstairs until the sky went dark. The next year was the year Sam left and never came back.

Now, as Jim rushed over the Starfleet campus lawn, he decided he’d worry about S’Lehaz later. Right now he had to come up with a good excuse for being tardy to Admiral Rescher’s lecture. Maybe he could trick Spock into suggesting some ideas.

 

____

 

Lunchtime came sooner than expected.

The chime sounded and students erupted into the corridors. Everyone filed towards the mess hall like a herd of animals. Jim kept his head down and started to move against the flow of bodies. A green hand clutched at his red sleeve, nearly missing him.

“Hey Kirk, where you off to in such a hurry?” Gaila grinned, white teeth and bouncy orange hair on full display.

Jim paused before he settled on a response. “A club thing. I’ll catch you later,” he offered with a wave and an apologetic, close-lipped smile before continuing towards S’Lehaz’s office at the other end of the building.

The quote-unquote disciplinary order to clean the antimatter waste had only been one in a string of similar orders following Jim’s first essay. Up until recently, S’Lehaz’s disdain had been relegated to the stray comment on Jim’s assignments. Yet, as the cadet's arguments became increasingly energetic, so did the disciplinary measures. Jim could still remember the look that S’Lehaz’s partner had given him in the hallway, contempt as obvious as his greeting was polite.

Jim’s grip on his PADD shifted back and forth, looking for a distraction for his mind as he approached the correctly numbered door. He resisted the urge to check if Spock had responded to his last message. By now, the hall was once again empty in the faculty wing. Jim’s shoes squeaked loudly against the polished floor. He stood at parade rest in front of the entrance and stated his name to the computer security system, entering without the added courtesy of a knock.

Inside he found S’Lehaz at his desk, waiting for him. S’Lehaz had made no effort to hide his anticipation, with no files or holos open in front of him. S’Lehaz had dark, neat hair and a formidable build not unlike Spock’s, thanks to the Romulan’s similar ancestry. He was undeniably handsome, which only made things worse. The interior of the room was heavily decorated with paper copies of certificates and framed medals. There were other tokens of his travels along the shelves, as well as a digital frame of his partner, a former Federation athlete. It dawned on Jim that according to when he’d started teaching at the Academy, S’Lehaz would be up for review this year as per regulation.

“You may be seated cadet,” S’Lehaz finally spoke, gesturing toward the chair without rising to stand. Once Jim was seated, S’Lehaz leaned forward with his elbows on the desk and continued, “Luckily for you Mr. Kirk, I am being uncharacteristically generous.”

It took all of Jim’s self-control to hold back a disbelieving snort. He pictured Pike’s harried disapproval and desolate stretches of Iowa dirt. He coughed into his fist instead, earning a stare from S’Lehaz.            

“As I was saying,” he eyed Jim with poorly guarded dislike, “I am being unusually generous in light of your recent disappointing test score.”

Jim couldn’t bite back his retort quickly enough. “Disappointing?” Of all the potential topics or reprimands for this so-called meeting, a critique of his grades was the last thing he’d expected. Jim knew he had a ‘colorful’ punitive file, but his academics had never been a problem. “I mean, permission to speak, sir?”

“Granted,” S’Lehaz folded his hands atop the desk.

“With all due respect sir, if you’re referring to our last exam, I answered almost every question correctly. I saw the computer results.”

S’Lehaz’s looked like a hunter whose prey had just stepped into the rope circle, about to be yanked up by the ankles. “You are forgetting the essay section, Mr. Kirk. You’re aware that it is worth 50 points, and unfortunately, it seems you misread the prompt entirely.” Jim knew his essay had stayed on topic. He knew he’d actually studied for it and he knew he’d cited at least two Vulcan scholars. S'Lehaz continued. “I asked you here because I am willing to offer you the opportunity to make up for your lacking performance,” he paused as if to savor the moment. Jim didn’t let his stare falter. “If you turn in another paper on the Arcturian military hierarchy. Pre-Federation.”

Jim's mind reeled with anger. S’Lehaz knew those records were nearly impossible to find. He managed to choke out a response. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that,” Jim said, gritting the words through his teeth, “…sir.”

“You’ll have to give up your lunch periods, naturally. I’ve already run it by your superiors.” 

Jim’s skin was crawling. In the past, he might have informed S’Lehaz just where he could shove his extra credit essay. Jim might’ve even laughed in his face, buoyant with the sheer absurdity of it. Instead he kept his arms stiff at his sides. If anyone back home could see him now, they’d barely recognize him dressed in his little uniform buttoned up to his chin and a “yes sir” ready on his lips.

S’Lehaz’s voice surprised him out of his thoughts. “I am willing to consider another option.” S’Lehaz stood and rounded the table with a prurient grace. Even through his irritation, Jim’s eyes skimmed over S’Lehaz’s body, to take in distinctly slanted brows and curved ears. An involuntary array of images flashed through his mind.

“Your stares have not gone unnoticed.” Shock momentarily stilled Jim’s muscles. He searched for the proper response, denial or confirmation, but S’Lehaz was already advancing. The professor stopped to stand next to Jim’s chair, nearly touching his left arm. The closeness of him only heightened Jim’s intermingling indignation and anticipation. He could walk out, but something like curiosity mixed with the fear of rejection from the academy rooted him to the spot. “I will reconsider, if you are willing to do something for me.” One of S’Lehaz’s fingers found Jim’s bottom lip. He traced the soft skin up to the top's dip. Jim swallowed as S’Lehaz pressed against the seam of his mouth again with his thumb. Jim debated his next move before wordlessly consenting and parting his lips to allow the professor inside. S’Lehaz slipped two fingers past his lips, where he teased Jim’s tongue. Jim fought back a noise. He closed his eyes and sucked in earnest. He then heard the sound of S’Lehaz’s trouser’s unclasping.

_________

 

The sound of the door clicking shut ricocheted through the still hallway. Jim stood unmoving just outside the office, catching his breath. He wiped his chin even though he knew it was already cleaned. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath into the quiet. Part of himself yearned to go back inside and fight, while the other implored him to flee the scene before he made matters worse. The conflict kept him vacillating in place. Jim’s stomach growled hungrily oblivious to the circumstances.

 Once he finally started moving, Jim hardly registered where he was going until he found himself blinking into the harsh sunlight of the campus lawn. Lunch period would be ending soon. He’d have to go back inside, but Jim couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet. He needed distance. He went to Noland's for lack of anywhere better. The bartender didn't ask questions as he sat down and barked an order. With a drink in hand, Jim stared glassy-eyed at the back of the bar. His Comm rattled against the counter with a notification, the second time in as many minutes. There were already three missed connections from his roommate and one from McCoy cluttering up the screen. Jim chose to honor each of them with three swigs of Andronian Ale. He’d face reality tomorrow, but not tonight. He deserved at least one more fucking night, and curfew could fuck right off.

He rolled his eyes as another message came through. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he reached over to shut the device off. But instead of his roommate Ray’s name, the screen was lit up with Spock’s contact photo. Jim quickly wiped his mouth and set down his beer to pick up the PADD with both hands. The first two were questions about Jim’s whereabouts; the third was a request to reschedule at a more convenient date. Horror landed firmly in his chest as Jim realized his mistake. In his defense - Jim reasoned in a panic - Spock had changed things up after he stopped taking that extra hour of training. Jim typed out an apology. He didn’t have to wait long for Spock to respond a few minutes later.

<< Did yourself and professor S’Lehaz come to an understanding?”

<< Yea, all fine now. Gonna to do a little extra credit nothing big.>>

<<I am certain you will excel in whatever task you have been given. >>

Guilt rolled through Jim as he stared at Spock’s trusting naivety. The feeling was interrupted when another message took its place on the screen.

<< The professor is quite reasonable despite his race. When I mentioned your concerns with him earlier, he was receptive to critique. >>

Horror of a different kind crept through his chest. Jim typed and then retyped three replies in quick succession.

With each cleared line of text, Jim reigned in the urge to lash out at Spock for his own lack of self-control. He pictured Spock straight-backed, calmly listing the ways in which S’Lehaz could improve his classroom management, under the impression of his being constructive. A Vulcan preaching to a Romulan on conduct. Spock had no right to get involved. Jim finally tapped the screen to send what he hoped was a less biting response.

<< critique? what exactly did you say? >>

<< I simply suggested he revisit your arguments. >>

Jim groaned to no one in particular. He couldn’t be sure if any of this new information colored S’Lehaz’s actions, now that S’Lehaz was apparently under the impression that Jim had a Vulcan boyfriend doing his dirty work for him. He desperately tried to clear his mind.

<< How was your day?>> He typed out automatically. Looking at the words brought heat to his cheeks. He could blame the ale.

<<It was as expected. I joined Captain Pike for a meeting, or as he terms it, a ‘lunch between friends.’ Your name was also mentioned. >>

Jim absently licked his lips. Too exhausted to resist, he let his fear settle and linger.  

 

Week 8

Unlike their previous outings, Uhura had agreed to meet off campus at a popular public study hall. The final examination in relativistic mechanics was nearing, and thus Spock had agreed to a study session despite his already thorough knowledge of the material. The hard corner of his briefcase bumped his thigh as he quickened his stride along the sidewalk. Many of his fellow cadets had taken to wearing either shorts or skirts outside of class in accordance with the increasing temperatures. Spock contrasted sharply in a long sleeved shirt and pants. He scaled the squat, green steps of the building and entered inside Farley & th’Paliti’s crowded lower level.

The establishment had been remodeled since its brief stint as an Andorian-Orion fusion eatery. Its current interior was reminiscent of the traditional Earth coffee shop, by which it had been originally inspired. Visitors were met with a long, narrow room furnished with wood floors and copious amounts of seating. The top three floors were similar in this respect, while the basement housed amenities for sleeping and bathing. As it were, the Starfleet cadets’ occupied nearly every available booth, stool, and table. The walls softly glowed with reading files and touch-screen menus for various drinks or food items.

Spock made his way to the far corner of the establishment as earlier directed by Uhura, but was met with a curious glances from a table of strangers when he arrived. He turned away and reread their last correspondence as dictated on his PADD. When he had confirmed that he was not mistaken, he sent out another message. The reply came after three additional minutes of Spock’s standing in limbo between the refreshment bar and the occupied table.

<< so sorry! we had to move. Second floor, fourth booth. >>

Spock once more found himself standing, PADD in hand and briefcase in the other, in front of a small crowd of unfamiliar faces. This time, Uhura was seated at the end of a red-upholstered, u-shaped bench next to a female that Spock recognized as Tayv from their class, as well as one unknown man and woman.

Uhura spotted him and stood up with an unfiltered grin. Her hair was free from her stringent ponytail and she wore a pair of crisp, cobalt blue shorts. Spock could not help but admire her beauty, even as the particular shade of blue brought Jim’s eyes to mind.

“Spock! You made it!”

“Yes. I apologize if I am late. I did not realize…”

“No need to apologize. We’ve been here all day actually. I was going to come early and get us a spot when I ran into Cheng and Ally. Guys, this is Spock.” The aforementioned couple waved. 

“Oh we’ve heard all about you,” Cheng teased from across the table. The woman named Ally elbowed his side. “What? I’m just saying. So Spock, man-to-man, how do Human chicks compare to the ones back on Vulcan?”

“Shut up!” Ally squealed with a mortified expression. “Can you not? He hasn’t even sat down yet!”

“Fascinating.” Spock deadpanned. Cheng opened his mouth, but Spock spoke before he could continue. “Your query is both highly flawed as well as imprudent. It would be a disservice to both populations to generalize them as two homogenous groups free of individual variation.”

Cheng’s brow threatened to cave in on itself, the furrow was so dramatic. “Sheesh, ok, ok. Just trying to have a little fun. Lighten up.”

“So!” Uhura clapped her hands with unnecessary force, “How about we get back to mechanics? Spock, you can sit on the end here.”

Spock nodded and took his place. Regardless of Cheng, he could not help experiencing apprehension at the prospect of studying in a group. Since coming to Starfleet, he had made considerable adaptations to account for the popular Terran style of education. His own culture valued independent, solitary study. In response, most of Spock’s courses were tailored thusly, with the exception of large classes such as introductory mechanics. He had experienced successful sessions with Uhura, as well as a select few with cadet Kirk. The sessions with Kirk in particular had a curious way of focusing Spock via the relative ease and insouciance by which Jim approached his own studies.

It soon became clear that this current study session was primarily for social purposes, as jokes were tittered over glasses of iced coffee with only a few minutes of focus on the problem sketched out on the table. Thirty minutes later, the equation had not been altered or changed.

“Ignore Cheng, tell us about Vulcan!” Ally leaned over her plate of blue macaroons. “I think my grandma went once, as part of that…was it a Fleet anniversary thing?”

“Forget Vulcan, why Starfleet in the first place?” Tayv fixed him with her stare. Her tone bordered on interrogatory. Ally had demurred back into her seat with a barely audible huff. “Why not the Vulcan Academy?” 

Spock stared back. “I found that the mission of Starfleet was most compatible with my own interests. The quality of the academics was satisfactory as well.”

“Ok, but do you want to work on a ship? Because you know that the majority of crews are human.”

“You are mistaken if you believe I harbor any ill will towards humans. The opposite is true.” Spock held her gaze in spite of the urge to look away. “In reference to your question of whether or not I have considered a future on a Starfleet ship, I have indeed had the privilege of speaking with Captain Pike about the possibility of my working aboard his vessel.”

“Wow, so I guess it’s true what they say about Founders privilege,” Tayv leaned back in her seat, increasing the distance between them as if to signal the end of the conversation.

“The Vulcan race’s status as one of the four species to found the United Federation of Planets does not have any bearing on my performance at the academy.”

“Fine.” Tayv held up her hands as Uhura sighed something to herself, head down.

The rest of the group continued to study or feigned studying for the remainder of the time. Additionally, Uhura managed to shift the topic away from Spock at various points. Spock drank the tea that was offered to him, although it was both watered down and far too sweet. Once everyone had finished their second round of drinks, they began to gradually part ways until only Uhura and Spock remained. She turned to him in the seat. For the first time, Spock became aware of the relatively small distance between them. She blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a delicate hand, “I am sorry about, well…everyone.” 

“Apologies are unnecessary, Nyota.”

“No, no they are. I can’t believe they did that. I promise they aren’t usually like that.”

Spock hesitated. “I believe there was some merit to Tayv’s unconventional sequencing in the fourth problem.”

Uhura laughed, “Well, would you at least let me make it up to you,” she stared at him through her eyelashes.

“As I have already stated, reparations are unnecessary.”

“What I meant to say is, would you like to go out with me sometime? Without the studying, I mean, on a real date.”

_________

 

Back inside his room, Jim waved at Ray and sat down at his desk. Wrappers, one paper book, and a stylus littered the surface in front of Jim.

He reached for the pesky utensil as his Comm alerted him again of a new message from Spock.

“How much longer are you gonna be tutoring that guy?” Ray called from behind the partition, muffled around food.

“I’ve got no clue,” Jim answered. Suggestion of an expiration date somewhat unsettled him, even when it meant credits in his straining bank account. Admittedly, Spock was making progress, but he had a ways to go before Starfleet Academy’s student body was electing him homecoming king. The idea of Spock in a tux and a faux-jeweled crown, like in the old movies, caused Jim’s mouth to break out into a grin.

“Well, like, is he coming over this weekend? Because I was wondering if I could have the room Saturday? Ya know, if that’s cool with you.”

“Saturday?” Jim squeezed the handful of the wrappers into a ball and leaned back to toss them into his recycler. He was pretty sure Spock hadn’t scheduled himself for anything other than Thursdays. Jim picked up his PADD to find the fifth day of the week indeed highlighted in blue, labeled “meeting” by Spock thanks to their synced calendar. He had nothing planned, but why not take advantage of a night out? Why not take Spock back to the bar? His friends had started to ask when Jim would finally introduce them to his mysterious new friend. What better place to give Spock a crash course in illogical human behavior.

“Saturday’s no problem,” Jim replied, satisfaction blooming in his chest.

 

Week 9

Class let out early on Monday, much to Jim’s relief. He grabbed his PADD and tucked the long silver thermos under his arm. He sent up a short, private thanks for technology that kept the heat of the tea from scalding him through his uniform. Gaila and Sulu trailed behind him as they herded themselves out the door.

“Is someone on fire?” Sulu panted after him, “What’s with the rush Kirk? Aren’t we going to the meeting?”

“Yea, yea, sorry I just have to do something first,” he apologized even as he quickened his pace. He estimated it would take another five minutes to get through the crowd to the East Wing if he hurried.

“I haven’t seen him move this fast since City Lights had that closeout sale,” Gaila said. “Or when Feelix showed up to that party wearing nothing but his whitey tighties.”

“In your defense though, he rocked those,” Sulu added. Suddenly Sulu stopped, causing two other students to walk into him. “Aw fuck, I was supposed to bring Veronica my extra mask today. I’ll catch you guys later!” Sulu called as he disappeared down the opposite hall. Jim and Gaila exchanged a look, to which Gaila shrugged.

“What is the emergency anyways?”  

Jim shifted the thermos under his arm. “A, uh, a friend of mine just finished his final?” he said by way of explanation.

“So important it can't wait 'til later?” she spoke to his shoulder as she dodged yet another harried senior cadet. The crowd slowly became older in age as they neared where the majority of upper level sciences were held.

They walked out of the hallway and into a bright, airy atrium. The floor’s grey and white tiles were in need of repair and the heat-regulating coating on the windows was a little worn in the otherwise impressive space. The East Wing was slightly older than the new freshman main hall and gym, renovated as of 2253, where many of the perspective cadets or their parents would tour.

Turning to the right, Jim came to a halt in front of another classroom door where a similar parade of cadets filed out with a range of grim to relieved expressions. Jim’s eyes caught sight of a familiar bowl-cut framing the tips of pointed ears. He caught himself smiling like a fool belatedly. Gaila followed his gaze with raised eyebrows. Jim had already started to move forward when he saw cadet Uhura standing beside Spock with a hand resting lightly on his forearm. Jim felt his grin slip slightly as cadet Uhura’s lips broke into an even wider smile. The sight left him feeling unexpectedly hollow as the thermos full of tea sloshed heavily against his side.

Jim averted his eyes from them, and instead began to search for a way out in the crowd. He’d nearly forgotten Gaila beside him until he heard a voice to his left, “Still not sure what we’re doing here but, I think the Vulcan saw you.”

“Goddammit.” Jim lifted his head to confirm. “I’ll catch up with you later, ok?”

“Sure thing. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Jim began the trek towards Spock who was still standing beside a slightly dubious looking Uhura.

“Cadet Kirk, this is a most welcome surprise.”

Jim felt himself redden. “Yea, I was in the area, so I thought I’d see how that test that was driving you crazy went.” He pivoted to Uhura, “Jim Kirk, by the way. Minus the –“ he mimed a stream of blood coming out of his nose and winked.

“I’m glad to see your face healed alright?”

“Me too. It’s about all I’ve got going for me.”

Spock paused to interrupt. “At no point during the duration of our meetings did I display any psychological symptoms to signify I had gone ‘crazy’ or was otherwise of an unsound mind. The subject matter merely required a greater than average amount of my faculties-“

Jim couldn’t help but smile. “I know, Spock.”

“You wouldn’t believe him,” Uhura said, distracted by her own fondness. “He acts like he needs help, but then he goes and crushes everybody else in the exam.”

“You too performed commendably, cadet.” Spock replied.

Searching for a way to occupy himself, Jim uncapped the thermos and took a deep gulp of the pungent Vulcan recipe, regretting the action as soon as the spicy liquid hit his tongue.

“Jim, are you alright?” Spock immediately turned to him with concern.

“Yea, I’m fine.” It wasn’t until a few seconds later that he realized the name Spock had used.

“I’m about to head off to my next class,” Uhura announced. She gracefully pivoted away from Jim in order to face Spock. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Affirmative,” Spock nodded and offered one of his distinct non-smile. Uhura beamed tenfold in return. Jim watched her leave. Her ponytail swung happily from side to side with each brisk step. The unease that had weighed down Jim’s lips and tongue failed to leave as he and Spock stood alone in the emptying atrium. Both opened their mouths to speak.

“Looks like things are going wel-“

“I appreciate your visit, cad-“

The two met eyes before Spock motioned for Jim to continue.

“Um, I was just gonna say that it sure looks like things are going well.”

“Indeed, I have cultivated a much more substantial bond with cadet Uhura, thanks in no small part to your guidance.” Spock looked at him kindly.

“Well, what else are friends for?” Jim attempted another smile. “Hey, we should celebrate the test and ya know, everything. Maybe this Saturday? You could even meet some of the guys. And by guys, I mean Gaila and Sulu and maybe his roommate. I could even try to get Bones to come back out…”

“Perhaps Friday instead,” Spock interjected.

“Oh ok, Saturday no good?”

“Uhura has invited me to dinner that evening.”

Jim’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected it – the way Uhura’s hand had essentially caressed the fabric of Spock’s uniform sleeve – only Jim had thought he had more time.

 

“For a date?”

 

“I believe that was her stated intention,” Spock replied.

“Congratulations! I told you she was interested.” Spock studied him for a moment causing a tiny thrill of terror to shoot through Jim. For one nanosecond, he was convinced Spock could see just how rotten he was, how much of a liar he’d turned out to be; all of his twisted resentment and bitterness.  “When do you get out of your lab again?”

“1900 hours.”

“Sounds good. I’ll send you a message later,” Jim paused before adding, “I take it this means a meeting this week would be a little pointless?”

“On the contrary,” Spock assured him, “I believe I will require your assistance as much, if not more so, than our past engagements.”

Jim agreed noncommittally. Whatever it was that Spock could possibly still need ‘coaching’ on Jim couldn’t begin to guess.

 _____ 

 

Jim cursed at the dark expanse of Spock’s shut door. He couldn’t will himself to buzz in, no matter how hard he tried. It was late evening, slightly ahead of their usual time. His fingers circled the same rhythm over and over against his thigh. It was only a lesson, just like all the others. Spock was just a friend and whatever attraction Jim felt was surely a side effect from his recent bout of celibacy. Jim was mid-composing a list of Spock’s annoying habits when the door opened to reveal none other than the object of his thoughts. 

“Jim, you are early.”.

Jim groaned inwardly at the obviousness of his attraction. Spock wore a loose fitting t-shirt and bottoms that looked soft to the touch in a way that made Jim’s fingers burn with the desire to feel.

“I apologize, I was finishing a meditation cycle,” Spock said, breaking through his daze.

“I got your message,” Jim blurted out, holding his PADD aloft. He had long since turned it off to keep from re-reading the message in question. Spock motioned him inside without another word.

Around midnight, Jim’s notification alert had chimed him awake. Ray had grunted somewhere in the distance. The lingering discomfort and heaviness of having just awoken cleared considerably after Jim noticed whom it was from. Even more so when he read the contents of the message.

<< I am not yet comfortable with my ability to initiate a human kiss. I would like to put forth a request for instruction on this matter. >>

“What do you mean exactly?” Jim managed to ask.

Spock seemed to be at a genuine loss. “I thought my meaning was clear. I composed ten drafts and ultimately selected the message which you received for its relative superiority in tone and comprehensibility.”

“Maybe run it by me one more time.”

“I have some familiarity with the concept, but lack experience.”

“That’s fine, tons of people don’t have their first kiss until later. I’m sure Uhura will be more than fine giving you pointers, believe me.”

“You misunderstand. This is not my ‘first kiss.’” Spock walked towards him. “I have ‘kissed’ another individual in the way that is practiced by my people. Yet I have only witnessed my mother kiss my father in the human manner upon a singular occasion.”

Jim forgot himself momentarily in favor of his curiosity. “The Vulcan practice? What does that entail? Wait, why would Vulcans be kissing in the human way?”

“In Vulcan society, a kiss is performed by pressing one’s index and middle finger along the other party’s corresponding fingers, sometimes moving the pads of ones fingers in a rubbing motion along one’s partner’s.”

Jim’s eyes darted to Spock’s hand as his own fingers curled and uncurled unconsciously at his side. Images were clouding his mind when Spock spoke again. "As for your question concerning my parents, the kiss I speak of was due to the fact that my mother is human.”

Jim couldn’t help but stare in confusion. He had heard rumor that the two species’ DNA had been successfully combined, but it had been just that, a rumor. Why hadn’t he known? After all this time, Spock hadn't thought to tell him. "How?” Jim heard himself ask. Spock, to his credit, remained as impassive as ever.

“I have already explained. If you are inquiring as to the process by which my DNA was assembled, I have been assured that it was a long and tedious endeavor.”

“No, fuck, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. You – I’m always off around you, I’m sorry. I never knew,” he said dumbly.

“I was raised with the teachings of Surak,” Spock said by way of explanation.

“But that’s why you’re here at Starfleet? Because you’re half-human?”

“I was accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy as well as the Starfleet Academy,” Spock retorted.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t get in! Of course not, Spock, look at yourself. You’re brilliant. Of course you did. You’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met, even without your potentially one-of-a-kind-in-the-whole-Galaxy genetics. I’ve never seen you give up no matter how much shit Earth or Vulcan teenagers give you.”

Jim privately wished he could say the same, thinking back to sitting in the same bars back in Iowa like furniture. Spock’s stare was so intent, that it would have been unnerving if it weren’t so electrifying. “You were not present for my childhood indiscretions…” he began.

“I wish I had been,” Jim gave something close to a smile for the first time since he’d arrived. He watched Spock’s gaze fall on his mouth stretched across his teeth. Tingling warmth blossomed inside of Jim before the reality of their situation tempered the thrill. The sun was sinking, shining through the window of the dorm’s common area-kitchen and illuminating the round surface of Spock’s firepot that had yet to be put away.

“Spock,” he cleared his throat and reached up to ruffle the hair at back of his neck, “about the kissing….”

“If you are not comfortable with the request, I shall honor your wishes.”

“Christ,” Jim looked up to the ceiling. For a terrifying moment, he was certain his heartbeat must be audible to Spock’s super-human hearing. “Ok, ok. Fine. Let’s get this over with. Standing up or sitting down?”

Spock straightened his back further, “Whatever is most traditional.”

“It all depends. It’s whatever you or Uhura wants.” He prayed the words sounded less petulant than they did in his head.

Spock paused, before announcing with a thoughtful nod, “I will stand.”

Jim felt increasingly hot under the dense fabric of his jacket. His stomach was weightless and his mouth had gone dry. He yanked at the sleeves and tossed it to the side. The chair it landed on rattled precariously before balancing back into an upright position. "You’re positive you don’t just want me to draw a picture?”

“Jim.”

“Kidding, I’m kidding.” Jim said even as he stalled. He grappled for another series of questions. “Here or your room?”

“Here is sufficient.”

Naturally Spock wouldn’t care about the potential of having to explain kissing lessons to his roommate. Jim would laugh if his heart weren’t beating at such an alarming pace. Spock looked incredibly sensual in the low light. It was all too simultaneously heady and excruciating, as Jim came to the terrifying realization that he was in love with Spock. Another thought suddenly halted him in his tracks.

“Can you…is there a way to stop touch telepathy?”

“I can shield my mind from yours,” Spock said. “If that is what you wish.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

They stared wordlessly at one another for another extended beat. “How about you show me what you’ve got first?” Jim asked, cockily signaling between them before seating both hands on his hips.

“Very well.”

Jim readied himself. Spock moved then halted just short of the kiss. The tip of his nose hesitantly brushed Jim’s. A shiver of breath ghosted his lips. He seemed to be caught up in his thoughts. Jim tried to focus on something other than the half-Vulcan, slightly parted mouth hovering invitingly over his own. His body responded with unhelpful anticipation.

And then Spock kissed him. The movements were something akin to well-warmed machine, his lips attaching and un-attaching themselves from Jim’s with quick, pre-determined precision. He could almost feel the tension locking up Spock’s body and holding back even as they refrained from touching. Jim tried to follow him but was thwarted as Spock continued to press his lips against Jim’s, then open and pull away in alternating order. Jim thought of the last time he had shaved, certain there was some degree of finals-stubble rubbing against Spock’s mouth and cheeks. And yet, the fact that Spock’s mouth was slightly bigger than Jim’s own was intoxicating and the awkward bump of his nose achingly endearing. The sheer otherworldly bulk of him was made all the more apparent this close, now more than ever.

When Spock finally distanced himself for good, his face was open in a way that Jim found alarming. He sputtered out a laugh before he could stop himself, just this side of hysterical. The vulnerability in Spock’s eyes dissipated in an instant. “Provide me with your critique and I assure you I will improve.”

Jim pushed through the tightness in his chest. “Right, right, critique. Ok, first things first, make sure you’re closing your eyes.”

Spock’s eyebrows furrowed. “I have always found the practice curious. For what purpose does this serve?”

“It’s, uh, romantic? It means that you’re focused on how good it feels, ideally. Plus, I’m pretty sure you can go a little cross-eyed if you don’t.”

“Understood.”

“The main thing is that your technique isn’t that far off. You just need to allow yourself to feel some of what’s happening so that you can read the other person. It takes two to tango. You have to sense who is leading and what they want, or at the very least how they’re gonna move.”

“I will endeavor to try.”

“Now, as far as hands go - yours should probably go on or around her waist,” Jim’s eyes wandered to Spock’s, “maybe her cheek. Or whatever she tells you.”

Spock’s hand lifted to touch before Jim cut him off by insisting, “You don’t have to do that.” Spock froze before his hand fell, but not without his fingers glancing over Jim’s clothed hip. It finally dropped to dangle oddly at his side. Jim tried to conjure up images of his shrill, first-year Astrotheory professor naked and chastising him. The effort failed spectacularly as his libido transformed her into a tall, expectant Vulcan.

“Just follow my lead,” he heard himself say.

Spock waited with eyes dutifully closed. Jim’s muscles locked up in defiance as he stood in front of Spock. His underarms had begun to sweat. He’d kissed more people than he could count on two hands, yet his limbs felt too big and his lips felt like they were somehow separate from him. "Like this.” Jim tilted into Spock. At last his nose again brushed the soft cupid’s bow of Spock’s mouth.  He dragged his lips over Spock’s and captured them for another closed-mouthed kiss. And then another. Jim felt himself leaning in with unexpected appetite. It was more than he had allowed himself to imagine – feeling the slight moisture of Spock’s mouth under his own, of knowing what his breath felt like against his nose, what Spock’s skin tasted like for god’s sakes.

He pulled away for good and took a cautionary step back. “Now you try,” Jim said around the gravel in his throat. Spock blocked the light of the window as he pressed against Jim’s mouth with unforeseen intensity. It was a little too harsh, maybe even a little too eager, as the force of his kiss pushed into Jim’s teeth. Jim extricated himself from the onslaught, with a gasp.

“Easy there tiger,” Jim chuckled,  his laughter spurred by another heady rush of fear and endorphins. “A little softer, ok? Open your mouth a little bit.” Spock adapted Jim’s critique with his typical adroitness. He immediately dipped his mouth to again meet Jim’s. This time his lips were soft and searching. He both chased and dictated Jim’s movements when granted. The gentleness of his lips felt like an apology in a way that made Jim want to fall down and weep.

When Spock pulled away, his eyes remained closed. The light from the window had turned gray and dim. Jim suddenly felt a tugging sensation he’d never experienced before; like his insides had gone hollow and shaky with the desire to be filled – one way or another. "One more,” Jim heard himself whisper. It almost sound like a plea, like he was begging. He thought to ask Spock if he felt the same starved, yawning emptiness too that left him feeling drunk.

Spock met him for kiss that had their jaws working in earnest. Jim felt the intimidating power behind his kiss despite Spock's effort to hold himself back. He held back a moan when he parted. He thumbed Spock's bottom lip. “I’m gonna use my tongue now, is that alright? Will you open for me?”

“I will,” Spock’s hands twitched at his side.

Spock met Jim’s tongue readily, despite a lingering mechanical precision that could have been a turn-off with anyone else. As it were, Spock was the best kiss Jim could remember having. He circled his tongue to coax Spock’s tongue further into his mouth. The warm, exhaled air from Spock’s nose rushed against Jim’s skin as he deepened his efforts. Spock’s hands suddenly left his side to finally, finally cup Jim’s cheek and the other to hold his hip. In a moment of weakness, Jim moaned aloud – a sound subdued by Spock’s mouth. Jim had no time to come up with an excuse, as Spock’s fingers crawled against Jim’s back. They clutched at the damp fabric of Jim’s undershirt, just shy of bare skin. 

Jim was caught between throwing caution to the wind and pleading for Spock’s hands on his ass or his fingers on his temples when their hips finally met. The line of Jim’s erection prodded into Spock’s thigh, unmistakable even through the fabric of his uniform pants. He and Spock froze. Their breaths came out in ragged stutters against each other’s chins and cheeks. Jim opened his mouth – to say what, he wasn’t sure – when the front door slid open with a hiss. Both turned towards Rema. Spock kept a hand on Jim even as he smoothed his shirtfront and nodded to his roommate, who seemed equally caught-off guard.

“I assure you there is a valid explanation for this.”

“Not to worry,” ze rushed to say, “As I’ve said before, if you and cadet Kirk have plans to use the common area, I only ask for advance notice.”

“We are not romantically involved."

“No explanation needed! Enjoy your evening. Jim, always a pleasure.”

“Same to you,” Jim called after zim as ze exited the room. Only when Jim heard the door slide shut did he dare to breath again. “Well that’s not the worst position I’ve been caught in.”

Spock sported a rare expression of sheepishness. “I had believed he would be occupied for the evening.”

Jim extricated himself from Spock’s side and moved to collect his discarded jacket. “I guess this is goodnight then.” Shame turned his stomach as he covertly adjusted himself in his pants. If Rema hadn’t come in when he did.

“I do not require rest for another hour.”

“It’s fine. I have class in the morning.” Jim could hardly hear himself over the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears, flushed with embarrassment. The echo of his own groans left him itching to leave. Spock could chalk it up to the thrill of a new experience. Meanwhile, Jim was supposedly giving a lesson and getting hard over his inexperienced quasi-benefactor turned friend.

“Very well. I wish you a restful sleep.” Spock replied. “I will see you tomorrow, as planned?”

“Yea, I’ll see you later Spock.” 

___________

 

The turnout at the bar was moderate at best on Friday – the day caught in the middle of the ebb and flow of the Thursday townie crowd and the Saturday rush of freshmen Starfleet cadets, glowing red despite their plain-clothed best efforts to blend in.

They mingled around barstools and studied the bar’s menu decorated with sun cartoons and specials with names geared towards the graduating class. As the owner’s were never ones to miss an opportunity for advertising, Jim noted the hologram of an Andorian male in a pair of floral swimming trunks, drinking a frosty glass of Archer Ale. Jim’s friends and various acquaintances he couldn’t quite remember inviting were already on their second drinks of the night. Spock still had yet to show. He stared unhappily into his drink as he thought about the mere prospect of having to see Spock again.

“Jim-boy, you wouldn’ta believed the size of it.” McCoy continued talking at his side. “What’d I say Sulu? At least two and half centimeters off the side her leg?”

Sulu held up his hands, “Please. Just don’t. I’m drinking to forget that you ever told me this to begin with.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes. Jim glanced at the nearly-finished bottle in McCoy’s hand – his fifth or sixth judging by the tell-tale signs. More importantly, Jim noted, the older man was well ahead of him. Jim looked down at the beer that would be his second and privately vowed to rectify the situation as soon as possible.

McCoy leaned forward on his elbow, pointing a finger in Sulu’s direction. Jim knew that particular look all too well. He’d seen it right many a time before he found himself on the receiving end of every infamous Bones lecture to date.

“If you think life on a Starship is gonna be all roses and Federation-friendly diplomats, you sure as hell got another thing comin’. Ya can’t handle a little flesh wound cadet?”

“I’m literally walking away from you now. There’s a reason I’m not on the Med track,” Sulu quipped. “Number two, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of the dangers of space thanks. I literally have a lecture in the Kelvin Hall - Sorry, Jim.”

“No harm, no foul,” Jim titled his glass in Sulu’s direction.

The cadet mirrored him and took another drink. “Heard anything from that Spock guy?” He asked in an effort to change the subject. Before Jim could answer, Anipa returned to their end the bar with another round of drinks that Jim didn’t remember having ordered.

“Nope,” Jim battled to keep his tone from becoming clipped with annoyance. “Thanks, Ani.”

“Is he bringing his girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” Jim jerked his head a little too quickly.

“Yea. Gaila said something about one,” Sulu said, “You’re the one who’s friends with him though.”

“There’s a girl that he’s into, but last time I checked they weren’t actually together.”

“Slimy goddamn, green-blooded bastard,” McCoy’s lip curled.

“I’m gonna play some pool,” Jim set down his beer with more force than was strictly needed. “Anybody up for some pool? Bones?”

After some convincing, they found themselves playing against two much more sober girls who Jim thought he might know from class or maybe that infamous Feelix get-together. He had honestly, mostly wanted to talk to the guy about his intern work on language and telepathic cultures at the institute. Mostly. They were losing spectacularly to the pair of them when McCoy smacked his upper arm, just as he was bent over and laughing, trying to line up his next shot. “What was that for?” Jim righted himself, “I was just about to nearly miss that pocket and-“

“I hate to say it, but I think your Vulcan made it after all,” McCoy huffed into his drink. Jim looked up without a second thought to the game.

It didn’t take long to spot a nearly six and a half foot tall Vulcan-hybrid. Spock stood pale and rigid adrift in the crowd, dressed in what appeared to be a formal, dark blue uniform with pale trim. It was wide at the shoulders and agonizingly small at the waist.

Jim felt as if this something inside him could very easily tear him apart.

____________

 

Spock stepped into Noland’s for the first time in three months, now with significantly different intentions. The rambunctious crowd of his first outing was replaced by a more subdued collection of hovering cadets. The hour was late and yet the patrons seemed to be interacting at a reasonable volume.

His lab had finished later than originally scheduled, an error that had undoubtedly rendered him late to meeting Jim at the bar as decided upon. Spock’s fellow students had found fault with their professor’s final grading scale, a sentiment that Spock did not share. The disagreement had lead to a lengthy discussion that had left Spock with an unexpected sensation of discomfort as he continued to consult the laboratory’s clock every 2.3 minutes.He could think of little else than seeing Jim once more and he would make the immensity of his feelings known.

Spock now stood in the doorway of Noland’s. Jim slowly made his way across the room. The mere sight of him set his blood aflame. "Hey,” Jim approached, his right hand clutching hard at his ale. In the moment when Jim would have characteristically touched Spock’s arm in greeting, his hands pointedly remained in his pockets. His eyes scanned over Spock’s suit before returning to his face. “Did, um, did lab go late?”

“There was some difficulty leaving. The details are somewhat tedious. I do not wish to subject you to them,” Spock said, experiencing the relief of knowing that it was over and he was here with Jim once more. Yet Jim did not seem to share the sentiment. His face remained closed off.

“Well, do you want to meet everybody?” Jim tilted his head in the direction of the aforementioned friends.

Spock did not attempt to suppress the warmth or pleasure the suggestion engendered in him. “I would enjoy meeting your friends, Jim.”

“Awesome.” Jim said even as he averted his stare entirely. He pointedly turned a blind eye to the pressed uniform and Spock’s open demeanor. He began to move towards the bar and motioned for Spock to follow without looking back. Once they reached the bar, Spock watched the muscles in his back and neck tense momentarily before loosening.

“Bones,” Jim squeezed the man’s shoulder with what seemed like an unusual amount of pressure. “I’d like you to meet Spock – Spock, this is Leonard McCoy.”

“Well ain’t this grand,” McCoy slurred. “If it ain’t ol’ moneybags himself. What’re you gonna be using Jim’s ‘services’ for tonight? The ambassador gonna pay us a visit too?”

The pleasant feelings of reuniting with Jim faded abruptly. Jim looked to have turned ashen pale even in the poor lighting. “I’m afraid I do not grasp your meaning.”

The ice jostled against the side of McCoy’s glass as he gestured with the occupied hand, “You know exact-“

“Annnd, look at the time. Better get you to bed,” Jim cut in. Spock noted that his face had turned a deep, ruddy pink. “Don’t you have that thing to do tomorrow?”

McCoy shot another glance at Spock, who stared back unwaveringly, before he stood up on unsteady feet. “Take care’a yourself Jim.”

“Will do, buddy.” Jim sighed, giving McCoy a final clap on the back as he walked past them. Both he and Spock watched him go, expressions of trepidation and despondency respectively on each of their faces. Spock felt considerably smaller than he had when he first walked in. 

“I am so fucking sorry. He’s a little…protective. Not that it’s really a good excuse. You haven’t done anything wrong," Jim sighed and looked away. "Hey, how about you meet Sulu and Gaila? They’re gonna love you.”

“I do not seem to be ‘popular’ amongst new acquaintances of late.”

“Never know until you try!” Jim gave him a close-mouthed smile.

“Your logic is highly flawed,” Spock intoned even as he made to follow.

They found Sulu and Gaila were talking with another cadet near the pool tables. Introductions went over without incident. Gaila was gracious enough to laugh at one of Spock’s gambles at humor. Jim smiled, a little tight lipped, but Spock was glad to see it.

Spock sipped a cocoa martini and nodded with the conversation, once interrupting to defend a point Jim had made. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Their eyes turned to him as Spock did his best to not demur. The liquid in Sulu’s bottle glowed the same color as Gaila’s skin under the lights. Sulu then offered to buy another round, to which Spock and Jim both declined. "Suit yourselves! Gaila, you want another glass?”

“Please,” her eyes twinkled in the dark, all the brighter with the aid of wine. Spock thought she looked like radiant. He hypothesized that the effect could have been due to her pheromones. Once Sulu had gone, Spock turned his attention back to Jim, feeling his center of gravity to be somewhat less consistent than it had been when he had first arrived. He pulled back his shoulders and leaned in closer to the remaining human.

“Jim, may I purchase you a beverage?”

He raised both eyebrows and jiggled his half-finished bottle to illustrate. “Thanks Spock, but I’m good…do you want another martini?”

“This is sufficient,” Spock said with what he hope was a calm demeanor. He would not count the exchange as a loss. Surely Jim would comprehend and consequently accept his offer later in the evening. Spock had been foolish to ask when he clearly had not finished his current beverage. Jim continued to stare at him in mild puzzlement until Sulu returned with his and Gaila’s drinks in hand.

“For the lady,” Sulu made a show of handing over the thin-stemmed glass.

Gaila was in the middle of describing the precise role of the torso in belly dance to Sulu when Jim excused himself with an apology about needing to relieve himself. Spock did not follow, but watched as Jim instead returned to the bar, signaling to the owner with a raised finger and taking the next available seat. The broken stool titled sharply to the left.

Spock turned his attentions back to the conversation of abdominal muscles with only vague interest. It was peculiar that Jim had not been forthcoming about desiring another drink. Nevertheless, Spock would wait for his return. In the meantime, he attempted to introduce another topic concerning diplomacy and Starfleet’s present policy. After a satisfactory amount of time had passed and the conversation had found a lull, Spock allowed himself to look over to where Jim remained seated. He was met with the sight of Jim and the female bartender speaking closely. She was leaned over, stomach pressed against the bar top in a way that accentuated her breasts while Jim smiled up at her. A shot glass dangled in his hand.

With his free hand, Jim trailed a finger down the bartender’s exposed arm. The dark emotion that Spock hadn’t given real credence to since he was a child rose up in his chest. He considered leaving but could not bring himself to. Sulu and Gaila had ceased talking, having followed Spock’s stare.

“You think they’re sleeping together again?” Gaila asked into the air.

Sulu shrugged, “Wouldn’t surprise me. Anipa always had an uncanny ability to put up with him.”

“They have a romantic history?” Spock asked.

“I wouldn’t call it romantic, so much as sexual. But what do I know, he doesn’t tell me anything these days,” Gaila said.

“Jim has not mentioned this,” Spock replied shortly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sulu said. “He’s mysterious. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

The idea did little to comfort Spock. A short time later, Sulu and Gaila left, bidding Spock goodbye. Gaila made a point to tell him it had been a pleasure, teeth a shade darker from her drink. Sulu suggested they all go out again sometime when Jim was feeling a little less focused on ‘you know what.’

Upon their leaving, Spock ordered yet another martini and took a seat near along the wall, ignoring the logical assertion that any further consumption of alcoholic beverages would result the impairment of his motor skills as well as the speed of his reaction time. Jim would most likely finish his conversation with the bartender soon and perhaps later they could speak together at some length.

___________

 

“Where’d Gaila and Sulu go?” Jim’s voice awakened Spock from his light dozing. “Hey, are you ok?”

Spock lethargically raised his head, “They departed a short time ago. I will ensure that you arrived home safely.”

“Spock, are you drunk?” Jim asked in disbelief.

“I may have indeed consumed more is advisable, cadet Kirk.” Spock folded his hands behind his back, a formal gesture ruined by the comically intense concentration it took to complete.

“Ok, I guess we should go then, ‘cadet Spock.’” He patted Spock on the arm as he walked past him, a great deal more amiable than before. His hand remained there as he lead them through the exit. Outside, Jim zipped up his jacket against the chilled night air. Spock kept his arms folded behind his back as he escorted him across the lawn. The grass was damp under their boots from a rainfall that Spock hadn’t been seen. A rare few points of light were hung up in the sky, catching their eyes at the same time over Starfleet’s hulking Main Hall in the distance.

Spock knew he wanted this – to serve Starfleet and explore the universe’s infinite array of different life forms. He had been aware of this desire for quite some time, but now it was accompanied by a wish to share it with Jim. He realized belatedly that he’d stopped in his tracks. Something in the back of his mind prickled with recognition. He looked over to see the man in question watching him just as he had been watching the sky. They wordlessly continued walking, Spock a step behind. They traveled down the various corridors to eventually reach Jim’s room. Although Spock didn’t yet know what his own intentions were, but he knew that he did not yet wish to go part with Jim and go their separate ways.

Jim slouched beside the room’s keypad – the wall, cool and flat under his back. He leaned his head back with exhaustion. Spock admired him with a quiet desperation. He took in the vulnerability of his neck, his jaw, his lips, and the way his leather jacket strained when he flexed his shoulders. In that moment, Spock forgot about all the things he had wanted to confess. He wanted Jim, was missing him in a way that was the height of irrationality. He felt certain he had not misread the signs. He was moving forward before he could fully comprehend his actions, was kissing him and pushing a hand up the fabric of Jim’s familiar t-shirt. Jim’s taste and scent mingled together, a combination of pungent beer and chocolate.

Spock sagged his body weight against the smaller man in satisfaction. Jim was kissing back with abandon. Spock felt a whisper of Jim’s immense desire through the contact of their kiss as he had neglected to employ his shields. The emotion amplified Spock’s own as he placed a hand under Jim’s kneecap. He ran it up Jim’s thigh to possessively cup his ass.

Then Jim was pushing him away. His mouth was escaping. Spock felt as if his heart was sinking down, the most peculiar falling sensation that only intensified when he looked at Jim’s face. "What was that?” Jim gawked, “What the hell was that??”

“Have you recently engaged in intercourse with the Noland’s bartender?” The non-sequitur surprised even Spock, unbidden and slightly distorted.

“Are you kidding me? You don't get to be fucking jealous,” Jim spat. His expression was at once both imploring and defiant.

“I recognize I am acting irrationally," Spock attempted to steady his breathing but could not clear his mind, "but I am unable to cease thinking of kissing you as I did in our lesson. I have come to realize my interest in our lesson was not purely intellectual. It has been both a mental and physical strain to refrain from touching you. Jim, please." 

“Jesus,” Jim slid down the wall onto the floor and buried his face in his hands. When he spoke, his voice came out as a whine, “Spock, I’m drunk. You’re drunk.”

Spock lowered himself to the tiled ground alongside him. His knees connected with the ground, lacking either grace or patience. The action hurt less than it might have under normal circumstances. 

“I struggle with the thought of kissing you but once in this lifetime."

Jim looked up and met his eyes. “Can we talk about this later? When I'm less likely to do something I regret?"

Spock remained on the floor. He crawled across the small expanse of hard floor to Jim and placed a large hand on his calve. “Would a kiss before we part be acceptable?" 

The question startled a frail laugh from Jim, whose hand came to rest over the quickly beating heart in Spock’s side. “I guess that would be ok," he whispered.

Jim was still quirked upwards when Spock’s lips covered his. Spock leaned into him with his full body weight, thereby forcing them into a harder kiss. They remained like that, pressed together and breathing each other in. Jim leaned in for another kiss and then another, each increasingly reluctant to leave. Spock let out a sound of distress when they finally separated. Jim’s mouth assuaged him, messily bumping up against his chin to trail down his throat where he sucked wet kisses into the skin. A surge of want struck Spock. His hand clutched hard at Jim’s knee. His fingers itched, so close to Jim’s thigh, aching to feel the sturdiness of Jim once more under his palms.

Spock pulled away only to rest his forehead a little too roughly against Jim’s own. The younger cadet, to his credit, did not visibly show his discomfort. He instead sucked in another shallow breath. "I shall speak to you tomorrow,” Spock whispered against his nose and lips. He traced Jim’s fingers with his own. “I will think of you often. Goodnight, my Jim.”

“Goodnight Spock,” Jim sighed. Spock wobbled onto his feet while hoisting up Jim after him. They kissed up against the door for their third and final goodbye as the hours passed from night to morning. 

_____________

 

Jim woke up sprawled across his own bed to the sound of his alarm. The sun had only just broken over the horizon. Ray could be heard grunting his disapproval. Jim’s face was smashed uncomfortably against his pillow and his sheets were kicked to the other end of the mattress in a messy heap. For one disorienting moment, Jim struggled to recall what had happened last night. Then, all at once he remembered. The sickness in his stomach and the pressure in his head was drowned out by the shock. He felt excited to the point of nausea as he ran a hand through his slightly greasy hair. He looked to his PADD lying on the floor and wanted to message Spock immediately, to connect with him and validate the buoyant feeling in his chest.

“Dude, when’d you get in last night?” Ray grumbled with eyes half-open. 

“I’m not even sure,” Jim replied, stretching with a grunt. “I feel like total shit just thinking about running though. How about you?”

“Same old, same old. Aailyah brought over some stuff. We hung out.”

“Good for you.” Jim privately wondered if Spock regretted any part of it, given the amount of both chocolate and alcohol he’d consumed. His PADD showed no new messages.

He decided to give it some time. And yet, as Jim ran around the track, he thought of Spock’s own lung capacity compared to his own. He thought of Spock’s muscle mass as he changed the gravity settings. In the communal shower, he pictured Spock and Rema’s kitchen and en suite bathrooms. There were definite possibilities to be had with the latter, Jim thought with a smile. It was acceptable to want Spock now. Spock wanted him back. The thoughts weren’t just abstract fantasies anymore; they were Jim’s reality. He daydreamed well into the lunch hour. Unable to wait any longer, Jim reached for his PADD across the dining hall table.

<< Afternoon, I hope you got some sleep >>

Spock responded with his usual promptness. Jim felt like he was on top of the world.

<< Jim - your own sleep is my primary concern, as Vulcans do not require the same amount of rest as most Humans. Are you rested? It is most welcome to hear from you. >>

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning down at the screen. His food went untouched. Jim hovered over the screen, in search of a response that sounded a little less eager and a smidgen less vulnerable.

<< im doing alright >>

<< I am thankful for it. There is a great deal I wish to say, but I shall wait to speak of the matter until I see you again. If such is permissible. >>

<< Of course. >>

 Jim set down the PADD and picked up his fork instead. If there was any plus to getting involved with a Vulcan (or even a Vulcan-Human hybrid), it had to be their culture’s tendency towards frank honesty. He wouldn't find Spock catering to emotional whims. If he didn’t return Jim’s feelings, why would he have said it in the first place? Jim turned back to concentrate on his food, eggs gone slightly cold and oatmeal room temperature yet still edible, thinking of paying the medical campus a visit before the day was done.

 ____________

 

For the past three years, McCoy had lived in the seven-story building near the center of Starfleet’s Institute of Medical Sciences. Jim resented the amount of time it took just to reach the medical campus, which was comprised of a shuttle ride and a crossing across one of the city’s busiest roadways. Jim could admit that McCoy’s living quarters made up for it somewhat. He had a single room, unlike even Spock. The main drawback was the size and the communal bathroom, but Jim didn’t see how McCoy could complain. Plus they were close to the New West Federation Center for Extraterrestrial Health.

McCoy had just come back from his Saturday seminar when Jim arrived in his doorway. He opened the door with a look of trepidation on his face, which sagged a little in the way Jim had come to recognize after a long week. "Hey, you busy?” Jim offered a reassuring smirk.

“Not unless sitting on my ass counts as busy,” McCoy said gruffly. He wordlessly stepped aside so that Jim could pass into the room. The younger cadet hoisted himself onto his usual spot atop McCoy’s typically pristine desk. McCoy took in turn pulled out the chair to sit across from him without question.

“So how are you feeling, bud?” Jim asked. He paused before adding, “You were really putting ‘em back last night.”

McCoy smeared his pained expression with his hand. For a moment, Jim felt guilty for having mentioned it.

“Look, I know I was actin’ like a grade-A son of a bitch, but I don’t want some no-good, high and mighty Ambassador’s son taking advantage of you. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw ‘im.” He paused, glancing at Jim and then looking away. He opened and closed his mouth.

“Bones?”

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. McCoy stared down at his hands. “It’s nothin’. Joanna sent me a vid on Monday. She’s got something of a cold, but her mom’s taking care of her. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, “ he wondered aloud.

“Because it’s shitty being away, I get it.”

“No excuse to go around being a jackass to your ‘friend’,” McCoy muttered, somehow managing to say the word with less vitriol than usual. “So, how did it uh, how’d it go with him?”

Jim fidgeted where he sat. Spock’s last message had left him feeling remarkably unsettled and unsure. It had thrown what had happened between them into sharp relief. Jim felt foolish, like a child in his naïve optimism. He contemplated avoiding the subject entirely, but something inside him needed to confine.

“He kissed me,” Jim smiled apologetically. He continued as McCoy sputtered in protest, “I think he got jealous over Anipa, and one thing lead to another...”

“What about all this goddamn match making horseshit he’s been putting you through? With you over there, mooning after him plain as day-”

“I know, I know. I stopped him, I did, Bones,” Jim touched the back of his own neck self-consciously. “We were both kinda tipsy, but he seemed like he meant it. He said we’ll talk later. I’m 90 percent sure it’ll all work out.”

“If he pulls anything else,” McCoy warned in a way that Jim knew he meant it.

People in Jim’s life had postured and made threats on his behalf, brayed about having his back against whatever sons of bitches came their way – then they ended up leaving one way or another. Sometimes it was fear or apathy or anger towards him or just the situation. (Frank does have a point, Jim.) (You’ll be ok, you always are.) His mother had been too afraid to lose another husband. Jim was the one to receive the punishment time and time again, all because she knew he’d stay. Sam had been too young to blame, Jim knew that now, but it didn’t make running away feel any less like a betrayal. In contrast, Bones was somehow still here. For the comparatively little time that he’d known the older man, somehow his promises had always meant something. Jim couldn’t hide the fact that he was pathetically grateful.

“I know. But hey, things might actually be looking up,” Jim made a show of looking casual as he leaned back into a stripe of mid-afternoon sun.

 

_________________

 

 

Spock sat across from Uhura inside the air conditioned dining room. The trendily designed restaurant (as chosen by Uhura) was a popular spot among older otherworlders, thanks to its extensive menu, customizable seating options and somewhat higher than average pricing. 

The evening crowd made for presumably pleasant background noise. Of the numerous vegetarian dishes, Spock found himself increasingly frustrated with his inability to choose. The long lines of black lettering came in and out of focus as his mind uncharacteristically wandered. Only since he had met James Kirk had Spock experienced such anomalies, both pleasurable and uncomfortable.

Upon waking, Spock had felt something akin to embarrassment. And yet, the memories of the night before also prompted a great warmth in his mind. Spock found his longing had not decreased, but increased exponentially. He thought of seeing Jim, of touching him. Spock ruminated on their kiss while cleaning his teeth. The thought was followed by images of his own fumbling. This shame ultimately flowered into doubt and stilled his motion to his PADD. Jim’s message, therefore, had been a substantial relief even as Spock prepared for his meeting with Uhura. He now knew that he could not enter into a romantic relationship with cadet Uhura. The revelation did not engender a sense of loss like he thought it might have. Spock could not foresee himself possessing the ability to either divide his attentions away from James Kirk. Even with this knowledge, Spock did not desire to cancel Nyota’s plans. He both enjoyed her company and wished to discuss the matter in person.

“Are you sure this place is ok? We don’t have to stay,” Uhura asked over her own menu.

Spock set down the metal-encased screen to look back at her. “I assure you, Nyota, the restaurant is a highly logical choice.” The expression of concern did not fade. “I find all of the meal options to be excellent. I will have the bean curd and tuber root.” Spock tapped the ‘place order’ option.

She inputted her own. “I hope you like it. You know, everyone says this place is great, but I’ve never been.”

“I do not doubt that it is." He replied, before diverting the conversation. "Was your Saturday enjoyable?”

“Lovely, so far anyways,” Uhura gave a coy smile. “Training this morning was a little less than fun after I went out last night though.”

Spock became aware of the heat rising to his face. He would fully disclose the situation to cadet Uhura at the end of the meal, but had decided against speaking any earlier. Still, past images of Jim and the sensations associated with them returned to cloud Spock’s mind.

“I too rearranged my sleeping schedule to socialize last night.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow playfully, “Anything fun?”

The heat under his skin did not abate. “I believe so, yes.” She did not ask for further details, but gave Spock a look of knowing-bemusement. Mercifully, the waiter soon approached them with two covered plates. When he set them down and uncapped them, Uhura thanked him. Spock’s tuber root was placed on a bed of greens with a smaller-than-expected pyramid of white cubes on the side. Uhura’s tuna dish looked far more extravagant in comparison. They passed the meal in fits of silence and conversation. Uhura touched on her final paper, and Spock posed questions, to which she seemed delighted. They discussed summer plans (Uhura was visiting home, while Spock had decided to further explore Earth.) She frequently tucked back her hair behind her ear throughout the meal, clearly unused to wearing it down.

Once Uhura had finished her food, Spock set down his utensils as well. He had mentally focused himself on the task at hand before dinner, but he took another moment to find his center. When the bill came, Spock requested that he pay for it himself despite Jim’s lessons instructing him to offer to both options, to halve or for one party to ‘treat’ another by paying.

“I have had a highly enjoyable time with you, Nyota,” Spock said, allowing the statement to settle before continuing. Her body relaxed from its previous rigid position while discussing the bill. She gazed at him fondly.

“I’m glad, I had a good time too.”

“I would like to continue spending time together outside of our academics, if you consent, but I regret to say that I cannot engage in any kind of courtship or romantic behavior during our interactions.”

The pleasant haze of their post-meal lounging abruptly fell away. Her expression ran through a gamut of emotions before she schooled her features into an expression of calm focus that Spock could not help admiring (however regrettable the moment was).

“Why?” she asked, without value or anger.

Spock hesitated even after having carefully planned out his response. He did not wish to involve Jim any more than was necessary.

“There is another who I have recently become involved with.”

“Spock, why didn’t you tell me? Who? And while we’re at it, do they even know you’re here?”

The light clinking of silverware mingled in the background. Spock felt at least one other patron seated at the table nearby watching. “He does not know of my being here as of yet. We have not formalized the relationship, but I believe we share the same wish. I preferred to speak with you in person, as I do him. I do not wish to be unfair to you. I am deeply sorry if I have caused you discomfort.”

“I can’t believe it. This is ridiculous.” She said to herself, making a disbelieving face at the tablecloth.

“Was my timing inappropriate?” Spock questioned in earnest.

“I’m going to say ‘yes,’ Spock.”

 “I am sorry, Nyota. I too wish that the circumstances were different. Perhaps it is an unsuitable to ask, but do you foresee any potential for our friendship? 

“I don’t know, Spock. I really don’t,” she sighed. “I think I need to go now. Thank you for dinner though.”

Spock did not turn to watch her walk across the dining room floor and out the exit.  He waited ten minutes before finally standing and leaving. The neighboring table turned their heads away as if they were unaware. As he neared the door, a familiar figure caught his eye.

“Professor S’Lehaz.” He greeted the older Romulan with a nod.

“Cadet Spock, what a pleasure,” S’Lehaz’s face split into a sharp grin. He was dressed in dark, lavish robes that decidedly fit with the restaurant’s atmosphere better than Spock’s more modest attire. “Are you eating alone this evening?”

“I dined with a friend,” Spock folded his hands behind his back out of habit.

S’Lehaz’s eyes glittered in a way that set Spock on edge. “Ah the young Kirk, no doubt. You’ve done well, cadet. That talented mouth is truly worth a well-priced meal, although unnecessary in my experience. I particularly enjoy the way he moans when he is full. The circular motion he does with his tongue is rather agreeable as well, don’t you think?” The malicious flame seemed to grow brighter as Spock’s face hardened in fury and devastation. His limbs simultaneously felt weak and ready to strike. His blood ran both hot and cold.

“I have no opinion on the matter.” Spock kept his features in check, “Have a good evening, professor.” He turned without another glance. Spock keenly felt the oppressive sensation of S’Lehaz’s eyes at his back as he walked away. Thoughts of Jim’s naked body under S’Lehaz – of advising Jim to complete his extra credit, of his own submission to emotion – almost caused his steps to falter. He needed to stay away from Jim. He needed to think. He would have to meditate and revisit. 

_________________

 

 

Jim had reread Spock’s last words to him four times. The first two had been clouded by a lovesick haze; the third had been tinged with insecurity; the fourth had been through a dark lens of paranoia and second-guessing. Jim ate dinner with the blackness of his doubt like a companion. The food was tasteless on his tongue, only to swim meaninglessly around his stomach.

It had been six hours without any word. Jim had tried on every kind of rationalization. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself he cared enough to wait. He wrote drafts only to delete them, some cautiously affectionate and some outright accusatory. He had begun to feel a little crazy and hated how desperate it made him. It was Ray’s enthusiastic drumming of his index fingers against the desk to an endless rhythm Jim couldn’t hear that finally made him crack. He tossed his PADD onto the bed and shrugged on his jacket with only a vague acknowledgement of where he was going. Even as he turned the now-familiar right corner towards Spock’s room, he told himself he was only getting some air.

Rema answered the door looking winded.

“Hey.” The childishness of his actions hit Jim full force, leaving him fidgeting on the doorstep with indecision. “Is um, Spock here?”

Rema gave an apprehensive look that pulled at Jim’s already frayed nerves. When ze did reply, ze seemed reticent to speak at all, “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him. I think he said he had plans? I assumed he would be meeting you, as usual.”

Jim hadn’t thought it was possible to feel much worse. He crossed his arms and hugged them to his chest. “Nope. No, problem though. I’ll try him later. Sorry for bothering you.” Jim lifted a hand before turning to go.

“Best of luck to you,” Rema called out.

Back inside his room, Jim went straight to his PADD and began to type out a message. Part of him refused to believe Spock was on the date, in spite of the evidence. It was illogical…wasn’t it?

<< Did you want to talk tonight or another day? Let me know when is good for you. I can’t wait to see you. >>

Jim groaned as he dropped into his chair. This was pathetic. It wasn’t like him. He vowed that he wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Everything would be fine. Spock would send him a message back, they would meet, Spock would touch him and Jim would laugh about how needlessly scared he’d been. He attempted to distract himself until then by reading. The first book he flipped to on his computer was heavy on equations, an admirable but far too ambitious endeavor. He settled on rereading his favorite fiction instead. Just as the story began to win over his attentions, a notification appeared in the corner of his screen.

Jim’s heart leapt uncomfortably in his chest. His finger tapped at the green square signal without hesitation, story quickly forgotten. A new page riddled with numbers filled the screen. Jim’s brow furrowed as he realized it wasn’t a message at all, but his most recent banking statement. Two thousand credits had been added to his account. Two hundred for every week he had met with Spock – every bit the tidy business transaction Spock had proposed. Jim’s eyes remained transfixed to the screen, as if trying to decipher a different interpretation and hoped madly for something, anything at all. Fueled by impulse, his shaky fingers tapped the option to reject and return funds. Thoughts of his most recent message lingering, festering on the feed intruded, unasked for. Humiliation cooled his anger and left him feeling even more hollow than before.

Ray hummed and mumbled along to an inaudible beat. Jim commanded the computer to power off, but not before requesting for all incoming transmissions from the current contact be blocked until further notice.

 

 

2 Weeks Later

 

 

The annual Starfleet-Federation Veteran’s Charity Dinner was largely known to be a well packaged, albeit gratuitous excuse for higher ups to pat themselves on the back with crystal chandeliers and expensive catering. Each year, the grizzled-faced men dusted off their suits and filed into the George Kirk Memorial Ballroom.

Jim adjusted his dress uniform and trained his eyes ahead, away from the building’s glaring inscription. Not for the first time, he considered turning back. If Pike hadn’t invited him himself, Jim probably wouldn’t give it a second thought. Inside, a who’s-who of admirals and similarly retired captains strolled past him without a second glance.

A seemingly endless congregation of tables set with shining silverware stretched from end to end of the expansive room. The floor was a richly colored, ornate carpet that met with equally gaudy wallpaper. The juxtaposition of stories told to him of the scale of the Kelvin’s destruction, the glimpses of his mother’s grief, and the scene before Jim left him with revulsion thick on his tongue. Already counting down the minutes left, he found his seat next to the place card with Pike’s name and sat down. The woman seated on Pike’s other side turned to him. He could see the way her eyes flickered between his own place card and his face as she began to speak.

“Cadet, so good to meet you. I’m Admiral Karen Schuster.” She leaned across the empty seat while extending her hand,

Jim took it somewhat reluctantly, “Pleasure.”

“It’s a truly great thing your father did,” she looked at him solemnly before shifting subjects, “Chris said you’d be here, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be too busy prepping for starship training.” She leaned in further. “You know, Chris favors you for his crew, don’t you? Speak of the devil,”

“Schuster, Kirk,” Pike took the seat between them. “I see you’ve already introduced yourselves.” He glanced over Jim’s expression before adding, “Cadet Kirk, have you had yourself look at the open bar yet?”

“No sir. Not yet.”

“Well, how about you get yourself a drink while Admiral Schuster and I catch up and spare you having to listen to us talking up your potential.”

“Yes sir.” He stood and nodded, without needing to be told twice. “Admiral.”

He made his way through the crowded aisles while dodging people in suits and chairs alike.  Once he reached the bar at the back of the room, Jim finally saw the extent of the line forming in front. He glanced over the procession of formal ware once more and redirected his steps towards the appetizer buffet instead, desperate to avoid any further small talk.

A safe distance away, Jim surveyed the selection of petite-portioned plates with vague disinterest. He was inspecting a bright orange gel atop a cracker when a shadow fell over the row of dishes. He looked up. His heart momentarily stilled.

“Spock,” Jim breathed, too caught off guard to remember his anger. Overpowering relief washed over him even as he felt a tight, clenching sensation in his chest.

“Jim.” The mixture of surprise and longing in Spock’s own face reignited the hurt. Jim’s mind reeled. All of this was wrong.

“What are you doing here?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Spock’s openness was replaced by a hardened poker face. “I was invited. It is my duty as an Ambassador’s son to attend such functions.”

“Sounds rough.” Jim could play ambivalent for a few more minutes as he looked around for a way out. “Pike invited me. I think it had something to do with the venue.”

“Did you receive my messages?” Spock suddenly asked apropos of nothing. Just like that, Jim abandoned all previous plans concerning good manners.

“Are we really doing this?” Jim gave him a look of incredulity while attempting to keep his voice low. Spock made no sign of backing down. “No, Spock. Honestly, I didn’t think there was a whole lot left to say. I completed the job I was hired to do, didn’t I?”

“I did not view our relationship in those terms.”

“Coulda fucking fooled me,” Jim hissed, leaning over an array of colorful pastries. He quickly remembered himself and stepped back. “Look, I think you made your point pretty clear. I’ve gotta get back. I’ll see you around, Spock.” He turned his back to Spock’s gaping expression, heart thumping hard. Jim weaved back through the tables in a haze of fury masking thinly veiled hurt. Guests had already begun clapping for the first speaker as he neared the table. Not once did he look back to see if Spock had moved from where he’d left him, despite his overpowering urge to do so.

The subsequent procession of special guests and Starfleet administration passed by virtually unnoticed by Jim. Pike seemed to notice the change in mood and had left him alone, accordingly, although not without his share of concerned looks. For his part, Jim attempted to keep up appearances. Yet, knowing Spock was most likely still only a few yards away kept him sufficiently on edge with anxiety.

At the halfway point of the program, Jim excused himself to the restroom. Instead of turning down the hall, Jim continued to the nearby stairwell and down into the basement. The chatter of the crowd faded away to a muffled din through the ceiling as Jim descended the stairs. He let the quiet settle him before he found an empty bathroom and stepped inside. Standing at the sinks, Jim gripped the curved metal of the counter and steadied his breathing. The sound of the door opening behind him caused Jim to turn. He whipped around to find Spock walking in with a determined look on his face.

“Jesus, are you following me now?” Jim snapped. He touched his temple, head aching. His voice echoed uncomfortably loud against the tiled walls. Jim’s stomach traitorously filled with butterflies at being alone with him. The sensation only made him angrier.

Spock remained steadfast. “Jim, please. You have not responded to any of my messages. I wish to understand, so that I may rectify the situation.”

The hurt Jim felt had been warped into something unrecognizable, a blind violence that was at once infinitely more bearable. The unanswered “why” burned inside him to the point that it nearly consumed him. He wanted to lash out.

“You’re an asshole,” Jim spit under the weight of his self-pity, “And I don’t care what kind of Vulcan logic pedestal you put yourself up on. I get that you want to pay me off, but why fucking bother to lie to me about it?”

“Vulcans do not lie. You misunderstand-“

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t understand!” Jim bellowed, “You’re not some high and mighty Vulcan, you’re nothing but a spoiled brat who thinks he can buy people and treat them like shit.”

The words sounded ugly and childish even to his own ears. Spock had gone pale under the blue-tinted lights. He seemed at such a loss that Jim almost felt pity before he quickly buried it.

“Do you know how stupid I feel Spock? I must have been out of my mind for thinking you were more than a walking-talking access code to your daddy-the-ambassador’s account. You can keep your money. Enjoy fucking Nyota.”

Outside the bathroom, applause erupted from above as a voice announced another name over the microphone system, a reminder of the event still going on. Pike’s familiar intonation reached Jim’s ears through the walls and he cursed himself. Inside, the room had fallen utterly silent. Something peculiar shifted in Spock’s eyes. His nostrils flared in the first signs of real anger he’d shown since Jim had known him. Spock neither stepped back, nor did he move forward. He remained completely still in a way that unsettled Jim. When Spock spoke, the blankness of his expression was chilling.

“As you enjoyed Professor S’Lehaz?”

Jim’s face fell. Shock married with guilt to climb up his throat as he stood in the middle of the floor. He panicked at what it would mean for this to become public knowledge. He thought of fantasizing about Spock while S’Lehaz’s fingers were inside him, and his cheeks burned red. He thought about academic probation and S’Lehaz’s partner. Jim attempted to regain his footing.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Jim could feel himself vibrating in the pent-up wake of his fear and anger. “But so what if I did let him fuck me? Why should you care? Are you concerned about my fucking academic record, Spock? Maybe I just love Romulan dick, and there isn’t a goddamn thing you can do about it,” he challenged, wishing with his whole being to make Spock feel as small as he did.

“Understood,” Spock replied in a hushed tone. “I was wrong to have followed you. I will not disturb you any longer.”

“Fantastic,” Jim occupied himself with crossing his arms, still buzzing with self-righteousness. He tried to ignore the way his stomach sunk as he watched Spock nod and turn away.

 

_______________

 

The final half hour of the event passed without incident, once Jim regrouped himself and returned upstairs. He congratulated Pike on his most recent recognition while apologizing for his disappearance.

He listened to Admiral Schuster recite Pike’s view of Jim’s potential to rise up the Starfleet ranks if he continued to apply himself and prayed his eyes weren’t rimmed red. He avoided looking over at Spock’s table to see if he had left, yet his imagined presence felt like an excruciating weight.

Jim’s sleep was fitful for the following two nights. His mind reeled with activity even as his eyelids burned with exhaustion. He woke with the sun, both relieved and dismayed at the day’s arrival. Instead of continuing to try for more sleep, he rose and dressed early. Both the dining hall and the gym were virtually empty, thanks in part to the hour in addition to the beginning of summer holiday.

Jim had chosen to say on campus until he was assigned to a starship for the third year mandatory field training. He’d be the youngest aboard by a full year. This left him the room to himself, as well as a majority of Starfleet’s facilities. The silence left him with ample room to think – about his future, about space, about next year’s course load – but most of all about Spock. At times he could think of little other than that night outside his quarters. He felt sick imagining the sturdy feeling of Spock’s chest under his hands and the taste of his mouth, followed by thoughts of Spock and Uhura together mid-passionate embrace. In a moment of weakness, Jim unblocked Spock’s contact information from his computer. It was night, and the quiet of the room had settled around him. The light from the computer was the only form of illumination. Immediately, seven unread messages pinged to life onscreen.

Jim’s finger lingered as he considered deleting them before he tapped the first, eyes trained to the screen. A lengthy paragraph filled the page.

21:00 << Jim - I wish to see you soon and apologize for the delay of this message. A recent incident required that I meditate before speaking. Professor S’Lehaz of Romulus has made suggestion of your and his coupling. I hope that this is false. Regardless of the validity of these statements, their mere existence qualify as conduct unbecoming of an officer of his rank. >>

Jim felt the familiar combination of indignation and shame wash over him. He knew Spock must have found out from S’Lehaz himself. He’d surmised as much from their last conversation. Jim considered that maybe this was a mistake, but continued reading.

21:31 << Rema has informed me that you visited our quarters while I was away. I wish to explain my absence to you in full, so as to dispel any assumptions of unfaithfulness. >>

 

21:40 << Cadet Uhura and I dined together, but it was for the sole purpose of explaining that my affections lie with you and you alone. >>

 

22:05 <<Jim, I understand now that I have made a grave error. >>

 

22:35 << I have transferred the funds, as agreed upon. I will do whatever is necessary to regain your trust. >>

 

22:36 <<Please send confirmation of receipt. >>

 

23:15 << I did not believe I could feel this way. >>

Jim had expected some kind of an apology, or a flimsy attempt by Spock to cover his tracks, but not this. Guilt hit him hard and heavy in the gut. Spock had screwed up, but he’d also been on Earth for a grand total of two years versus Jim’s 23. Jim didn’t expect Spock to feel the same after everything the viciousness that had transpired between them. Even still, he ordered the computer to refresh his feed, only to be told there were no new messages from sender. 

________________

 

Three days later, Jim received the cadet assignments for field training. He read down the page, anticipation growing with each bolded captain’s name that did not list his name beneath it. His spirits dropped slightly when he scrolled past Pike’s name and did not see his own, but the feeling was momentary. At last he saw spotted Kirk: Garrovick, USS Farragut.

He read through the rest of the student crew with idle curiosity, until he reached the end. Third from the bottom. The identity was undeniable, even as the rest of the name was jarringly complex. There was exactly one Spock of Vulcan enrolled at Starfleet and he would be serving with Jim aboard Captain Stephen Garrovick’s ship for the next three consecutive months.

Against his better judgment, Jim sent a message to Spock with Garrovick’s roster attached and the words << I guess we need to talk. >>

 

_______________ 

 

The orientation meeting was held in one of the administrative building’s non-descript conference rooms, monochromatic with an oblong table and thick glass paneled walls. The otherwise dour space was enlivened by the crowd of 20 or so red-clad cadets from a rainbow of creeds excitedly chattering amongst themselves. Jim did his best to ignore Spock, in spite of his nerves. He didn’t trust himself to look at him apart from a small wave of acknowledgement when he had first arrived.

A hush fell over the room as Captain Garrovick walked through the doors. He was a man well past middle aged, with a long, thin frame and a neatly trimmed beard. Although Jim generally had issue with authority figures who weren’t Pike, he appreciated the way Garrovick surveyed the room with a quiet confidence that spoke of expected respect from his crew rather than demanding it.

The meeting consisted of Garrovick introducing himself and outlining what the semester would consist of. Even though their crew would not be straying far from the Sol System, with one possible foray in the Beta Quadrant, Jim could feel his own excitement building. Not even the loneliness of exploring alongside Spock without his friendship could damper the prospect of serving aboard his first real starship. After a short series of forms, Garrovick dismissed them.

Jim finally allowed himself to find Spock. The older cadet met and held his gaze as the others filed out of the room. If Spock was too hurt to be friends (let alone romantically involved), the least they could do was clear the air enough to be civil. He approached him and promptly began to panic when he realized he had no idea what to say.

“Hey,” Jim offered as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.

“Cadet Kirk,” Spock said in reply. Garrovick shut down his presentation materials in the background.

“Wanna talk somewhere a little more private?” Jim tried for a smile.

“That would be preferable.”

“Is my room ok? I know Rema said ze's sticking around but Ray left for the summer…”

Spock hesitated, the time during which Jim bit his tongue on any number of retractions, wishing he had found any other way to phrase it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Garrovick walking towards them.

“I believe that would be an adequate setting.” Spock said. Jim allowed himself to breath once more.

“Good, ok. Let’s go before Garrovick gives us more forms to sign.” Jim said in a rush. For a second, his hand flitted briefly near Spock’s forearm then dropped. The movement did not go unobserved by Spock.

They traversed the sunny campus, Jim leading Spock, in a way that felt eerily familiar. Jim keyed them inside while avoiding looking at the space of wall which he and Spock had kissed up against mere weeks ago. Now the feeling of Spock’s eyes at the back of his neck triggered a low-grade anxiety in place of arousal.

Inside, they both discarded their jackets in the face of the overwhelmingly stuffy heat. Jim offered Spock his desk chair as he self-consciously picked up spare items of clothing and threw them out of sight. After he’d finished busying himself with unnecessary tasks, Jim stood, unsure of where to sit himself. Spock watched him. The location suddenly seemed rife with faux pas and implied, inappropriate meaning. At last Jim settled on the recently made bed after much internal debate.

“So, looks like we got assigned to the same ship,” Jim broke the silence.

“Yes. I have spoken with Pike as well as Garrovick. No reassignments will be granted, except in the case of emergency. I believe this, as such, does not qualify.”

Jim’s mind stalled as he attempted to process the gravity of the situation. Spock had made the effort to speak with not one but two superior officers in hopes of avoiding their serving on the same ship. They now sat across from one another, Jim on his bed and Spock slightly higher in the chair, trying to parse out how to continue.

“Are we gonna be ok?” Jim bit his lip and hated just how small and nervous he sounded. He held up one hand. “Wait, don’t answer that. I know I said some fucked up things.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t really believe that stuff I said, I promise. I don’t really have an excuse but…Spock, I thought you felt, ya know, how I felt. Then all the sudden you stop answering my messages and you’re on a date with Uhura? What the hell was I supposed to think?” Jim pleaded.

Spock extended his shoulders defensively, “I did not anticipate your visiting Rema. I had intended to discuss my meeting with Uhura at a later time, if it became necessary.”

“The wait was kind of brutal, if we're being honest. You really left me hanging.”

“I thought I had made myself clear how I desired you," countered, although he deflated somewhat with the admission. 

Jim tried to ignore Spock’s use of the past tense. “It was kind of a mixed message. Besides, there can be a big disconnect between what you want physically and what you want...emotionally.”

Spock stared at him, forever the picture of solemnity, as he replied, “I do not experience such a disconnect.”

The words left Jim’s mouth before he could stop them, “Do you, um, do you still feel anything? Now?” His heart beat too quickly in his chest.

Seconds passed. Spock’s face revealed nothing and yet, the full force of his attention was on Jim for the first time in what felt like months. “I do not think I am capable of feeling otherwise.”

“Fuck,” Jim breathed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I mean, do you actually want something between us?”

The words came out as if against Spock’s will, “I want everything.”

Jim felt lightheaded. His own voice almost surprised himself when he returned the sentiment. “I want that too.”

“Jim,” Spock became serious once more. “What truth is there to S’Lehaz’s claims?”

The habitual dread nestled inside Jim’s chest. “Look Spock, it happened, but it was only once. I swear to god. It was forever ago and he'd essentially said he’d flunk me. I don't know, maybe I should have walked out of there. I mean, I would have but,” Jim’s face burned, “he almost has your ears, and I was in a fucked up place…” he trailed off.

Spock’s answering expression was so severe that it nearly frightened Jim. His eyes and the line of his mouth had gone stiff with some yet-unnamed emotion. Jim thought he recognized it as hate.

“Do not doubt that action can be taken to ensure his removal," The fire continued to burn in Spock's eyes, though it softened when focused on Jim in place of the imagined offender. "Where did he lay hands on you?” He asked in a determined tone at last. 

Jim stared, motionless. His eyes were questioning as he lifted his fingers to his own cheek. Spock continued to watch. Jim then moved to his lips, then his neck, his stomach and his upper thighs.

Spock rose from the chair to approach him. Spock then bent over and pressed dry, smooth lips to Jim’s cheek. Spock’s breath was warm and damp against his skin as Jim closed his eyes. Then Spock’s lips were pressing into his in an overwhelmingly longed for kiss. Jim felt his chest loosen and contract with want. He savored the heat and humid tang of Spock’s mouth and readjusted his angle to deepen the kiss, all the while keeping his own hands planted flat on the bed sheet. Spock separated from the kiss to kneel in front of Jim. He reached up to run his hands possessively down Jim’s chest and over his arms. Spock slowly kissed at his Adam’s apple, then the hollow of his throat. The soft suctioning sound of Spock’s mouth against his skin sent a slight shiver through Jim. Those hands smoothed down Jim’s sides as Spock reverently kissed the fabric covering his chest.

Finally, Spock locked eyes with Jim before lowering his head to place a deliberate kiss directly above through his pants, over Jim’s already half-hard cock. Jim bucked his hips, only to have Spock hold them in place.

“Is this permissible?” Spock looked into up into Jim’s face, pupils blown wide.

“God, you have no idea. More than permissible.”

“Is this?” Spock laid his hand between the v of Jim’s legs, palm pressed up against the rigid, confined outline of Jim’s erection. Jim bit his lip around a moan. Spock then slipped his other warm, slightly calloused hand under Jim’s shirt and bunched up the fabric to expose his smooth belly.

“Spock, please,” Jim stared open-mouthed down at him.

Spock slid Jim’s shirt over his head, followed by his own. Jim marveled at Spock’s exposed chest before him, until Spock kissed him onto the small bed. He held down Jim’s wrists with little effort and nosed at the side of his head, his face and neck.

“I will erase him,” Spock whimpered into Jim’s skin, rolling his hips almost unconsciously against the other. “I will cover every trace of him.”

Jim strained against Spock’s hold only to be pinned down with the full expanse of his body. Chest hair scratched against Jim's own bare skin, broad shoulders securely enveloping him from the outside world. Their hips, still clad in uniform pants, rocked and collided desperately with no discernable rhythm.

“Off,” Jim whined high and loud, arching into him. Spock allowed Jim enough room to tug his pants and underwear down, dragging the sheets in his efforts. The velvety, wet head of Jim’s cock smeared against both of their stomachs. Spock moaned wildly at the contact before Jim sat up to remove the remaining items of Spock’s clothing.

Spock rearranged them to tug Jim onto his lap. Their naked bodies were flush, Spock’s thighs bracketed by Jim’s. Jim ran both hands through Spock’s chest hair like an anchor as they kissed. Jim was beginning to sweat, the afternoon sunlight coming through the window to dapple the bed and their bodies alike. Spock held him close in a vice like grip, as if he could not get enough contact. Jim halted their motions and pulled one of Spock’s hands to his mouth. He slowly swirled his tongue around the two raised fingers. Part of his mind called back images of S’Lehaz, but Jim only lapped and sucked harder to elicit a string of awestruck murmurs from Spock. He flattened his tongue to take him even deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough.

Spock’s eyes had gone wet with pleasure. With his free hand, Spock cupped the back of Jim’s head and stroked his full cheek with his thumb. “Ka’i. You are here. You are mine,” Spock whispered. Through the haze, Jim recalled Vulcans’ touch telepathy. He couldn’t find the will to feel embarrassment as he took him in with wild devotion. The moment felt surreal as Jim released Spock’s damp fingers and finally guided them around to dip between his ass cheeks. Spock responded by pressing his index finger past the tight ring. Jim whimpered at the intrusion. Spock buried his head in the curve of Jim’s shoulder, a second finger now inserted – breath hot and ragged. Spock pressed in as if he wanted to lose himself there. He scissored and shoved deeper inward. Jim cursed, bucking back onto Spock’s twisted fingers.

When Spock finally removed his hand and dragged Jim’s head down for a grateful kiss. Jim wrapped his arms Spock’s neck and slid his hands into Spock’s hair to wordlessly communicate the same.

“Jim,” Spock freed his mouth from Jim’s in order to speak. He refrained from opening his eyes, as if too overwhelmed by the sensations. “I wish to join our minds. If you are willing. I would consider it a great honor.”

Jim stilled. Part of him retreated in an animal sense of self-preservation, while the other reached out to Spock with an eagerness Jim had not expected. He had to wonder if Spock would like everything he might see. “What does it entail?” he asked quietly.  

Spock’s finger traced the side of his head. “My mind to your mind,” Spock provided, breathlessly desirous at the mere idea. He was still temptingly hard against Jim’s stomach. Spock leaned his forehead against Jim’s to whisper, almost shy, “It is the greatest intimacy two beings can share in my culture. I admit, I greatly desire it, but I will only go where you allow.”

“Yea,” Jim consented, Spock’s hands at the small of his back, holding him firmly in place as ever. “Yes, I want that too.” Spock groaned as Jim rolled his hips to punctuate his point. His grip on Jim tightened with a intensity that verged on painful. Jim hissed but did not protest.

Spock then lowered Jim onto his back. For the first time, Jim felt exposed. Spock paused to kiss and mouth the head of Jim’s cock, as if distracted by its very existence. Jim covered his face with an arm and groaned as pleasure pooled up from inside him. His cock twitched with interest under the attentions. Spock swallowed voraciously around the tip, amid Jim’s gasps before he seemed to remember himself.

Jim watched Spock slide off of him, lips trailed with spit, only to continue the motion with his hand. “You are truly beautiful,” Spock said, captivated. “My apologies. I find it difficult to focus my mind on a singular task.”

“I know the feeling,” Jim looked down at him with heavily lidded eyes. Jim’s precome was leaking considerably, as his whole body strung tight with want. Spock answered his silent plea and crawled upwards to fully align their bodies. He held him down into the mattress once more kissing him into submission.

Spock lifted Jim’s legs, the tip of his erection already nudging at Jim’s now-exposed hole. Their mouths searched for each other, even as they had to strain to kiss. “Will you still have me?” Spock watched Jim’s face with rapt attention.

“Fuck, yes. Please. Please.” Jim panted. Spock began to push himself inside with the help of his self-lubrication. Jim’s ass stung with the accommodation of Spock’s girth. He willed himself to open wider.

“You are treasured,” Spock whispered and aligned his fingers along Jim’s temple. “Nahp, hif-bi tu throks. Together, and as one.”

The world began to blur around Jim as the meld took hold. He could still feel Spock’s hands and cock inside of him, but the awareness was somehow amplified. The burn of the penetration was too much and not enough. Jim hooked his ankles around Spock as he claimed him. There was no voice or intrusive presence, and yet Jim knew exactly what Spock was thinking as if by instinct. It was illuminating, and exhilarating in its transparency, beyond compare. Then, without warning, Jim felt Spock’s love push to the forefront like a physical presence. Jim felt the words though they had not yet been spoken aloud. The sensation was greater than any implication of any line Jim had ever dropped, any poem he’d ever read, any other feeling he could have imagined. It felt improbably familiar.

He clutched at Spock’s shoulders and cried out as Spock thrust harder. Jim attempted to project the same emotions and twisted to take Spock deeper.

“Holy shit,” Jim moaned as Spock snapped his hips with unremitting speed. Jim hadn’t touched himself, and yet his orgasm was rapidly approaching with each thrust. “I’m so close, Spock. Don’t stop.”

“Jim, I will not.” Spock wheezed and increased his pace with the kind of unwavering stamina only alien strength could allow. Minutes later, Jim’s mind went black with the force of their conjoined orgasm. Spock’s ejaculate filled him as Jim’s own coated their stomachs.

They closed their eyes together through the residual pangs. Spock’s panting was loud in Jim’s ears as he slowly extricated himself from both Jim’s mind and body. Spock lowered Jim with shaky arms.

“That was the most incredible thing,” Jim wondered aloud to the ceiling. Spock came back up to place kisses along his meld points.

“I am in agreement,” Spock said, voice warm and brimming with affection as Jim had ever heard. It threatened to break his heart. Spock covered Jim’s side by pressing his spent frame up against him. They remained like that for another long moment before Spock spoke again. “Do you desire to move?”

Jim smirked, “Not really, no. But I guess I should clean up. Just wow.” He turned to face Spock, “Is it always like that?”

“As it was both my first time initiating a meld during intercourse, as well as my first time with a human, I cannot say with complete certainty, but I can find no reason why not.”

“Wow,” Jim repeated, dizzy with contentment. Their cum had already begun to dry and his bed was in an appalling state of disarray.

They eventually stirred, Jim rising first. He winced slightly as he stood and felt needlessly self-conscious as he moved under Spock’s enthralled gaze. He struggled back into the remnants of his uniform and made his way to the communal water shower so that Spock could use the sonic one on Ray’s unused side of the room.

Jim came back to his room to find Spock sitting at the edge of his bed, for which he’d folded the soiled sheets. He had dressed and looked improbably immaculate. Jim couldn’t have stopped the smile stretching across his face if he had tried.

“You stayed,” he joked. The look that crossed Spock’s face immediately made him regret it. “Of course you stayed,” Jim ameneded, still standing. “Dumb joke, ignore me.”

“You may trust me with the utmost confidence,” Spock said, regardless of Jim’s reassurance. “I will not cut contact again, I vow this to you.”

“I know,” Jim said with a smile. He sat down next to Spock on the newly stripped bed. He hesitated before leaning in to capture Spock’s mouth in a kiss, which Spock readily returned. When they parted, Jim’s eyes caught sight of his clock located on the wall behind Spock’s head. His appetite returned with a vengeance.

“You know,” Jim whispered between kisses, Spock’s hand clutching his thigh, “I feel like I could kiss you forever. You know that right?”

“Although such a feat is physically impossible, I am aware of the urge,” Spock slipped his tongue along Jim’s as he cradled his cheek.

Jim grinned again into Spock’s mouth. He pulled away again to speak, “Well, after we test the validity of that theory, how about you and I get something to eat?” Jim gave what he hoped was a beguiling expression

Spock paused before answering, “That would agreeable.”

“We can skip the mess hall. I’ll take you to the place down the street, with the nice decorating and menu in seven different languages. You choose. I’ll pay."

Spock lifted a single eyebrow. “Jim, am I correct in gathering that the dinner you are proposing is a date? If this is the case, I assure you, the human courtship ritual is unnecessary, as via our meld you have become aware that I am in love with you.”

Jim laughed, giddy to the point of delirium, before he settled down. “I love you too. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression though. Dating doesn’t have to be all about ruse and seduction. Sometimes it’s just about doing things with someone you care about.”

“I see,” Spock processed his words. “In this case, it would be my greatest pleasure.”

 

______________________

 

Cadets lined up two by two in front of the USS Farragut, uniforms bright against the metal of the flight deck. Some fidgeted impatiently, while others stared straight ahead. Garrovick stood at the front, PADD in hand, with his first officer at his side.

Twelfth from the front, Jim’s impatience escalated into a full-body sensation. He hadn’t slept or eaten since the day before, but couldn’t remember having felt better in his life. Since S'Lehaz's dismissal, thanks to the convenient unearthing of certain unflattering records, things had been unimaginably good for Jim. Garrovick’s voice echoed across the room for the final, pre-flight roll call. It was still early, and the hanger was uncharacteristically still. The air seemed to be charged with the combined anticipation of forty Starfleet cadets readying themselves.

“Cadet Spock,” Garrovick announced. Another jolt of excitement shot through Jim at the sound. The realization that he was about to spend three months in space was an unparalleled high. The fact that he and Spock would be going together was indescribable.

Jim turned to catch Spock’s eye and smiled.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!


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